


More Tales From the Multiverse

by Hinn_Raven



Series: Donut Siblings [12]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Siblings, Amnesia, Children, Felix Being a Dick, Geese, Gen, Ghosts, Haunting, Original Character(s), Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7259959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Additional adventures of the Donut Family in the various universes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All the Kids Cry Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sroloc_Elbisivni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sroloc_Elbisivni/gifts).



> While I was writing  
> [Awful Energy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6559513/chapters/15006865), I wasn’t sure where I was going to end it. Iz was encouraging me to write some more Charlie in this, because it was fun to think about, so while I was writing that I also wrote parts of this. And I’m glad I did because it gave me the opportunity to have Jackie be more of an aunt than she usually got to be. 
> 
> Also this chapter draws from Iz’s Charlie verse fic [Head is Not a Home](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6138930), relating to Kimball and Carolina’s relationship, and the fallout of relating to Charlie. 
> 
> Warnings for: descriptions of violence, recovery from trauma, mentions of animal harm, manipulation, and my terrible attempts at psychology.

When they hired Felix for the job, they gave him two files. One about Locus and the… _thing_. The other about Tucker and his own spawn.

Felix recognized the name of the town Tucker was staying at almost instantly. After their hostage had escaped, he’d done his homework. He’d learned about her background, about her life.

He really doubted it’s a coincidence that Tucker was staying in Agent Washington’s hometown.

He did some subtle digging around once he was away from the aliens’ watchful gazes, and he grinned to himself as he put the pieces together. The’d hidden things relatively well, but it would be pretty clear to anyone with a basic knowledge of how those losers function what was happening.

The Reds and Blues were staying at Wash’s family farm.

Jackie, Felix found without much difficulty, did not live amongst the relative safety of the farm, instead living in an apartment complex in town with a few roommates. Felix was sure it was to assert her independence and to try to prove she wasn’t letting what happened to her interrupt her life.

Felix smiled, and picked up his knife. He was looking forward to this.

It took minimal effort to break into Jackie’s new apartment. She got home before any of her roommates did, and Felix lay in wait, knife in one hand, gun in the other.

She walked in, a bag slung over one shoulder. She looked almost like she had when Felix had first met her, but Felix could see the faint lines of a scar on her forehead. Locus had been responsible for that one.

“Hey doc,” he said, with an easy grin. Not that she could see it, since he was wearing his helmet, but it was the thought that counted.

It was amazing, watching her freeze up, her limbs locking in place and her eyes going wide. She shook it off quickly, taking a step back, but Felix raised the gun, pointing it at her, while spinning the knife between his fingers.

“You’re dead,” she said blankly, staring at him. Her eyes darted around the apartment, as if looking for a way out. He pocketed the knife. The gun would suffice, right now.

“What’s that old saying again? _I got better_.” He took a step closer to her, and the fear flared in her eyes, just like it had when she’d been their hostage. “You know, your brothers _really_ did some damage, Jackie. And, of course, Locus.” He darted forward, closing the gap between them and grabbed a handful of her hair, pressing the barrel of his gun against her forehead. “I’m impressed, Jackie. I didn’t even realize what you were doing until it was too late. How long did it take, whispering in Locus’s ear?”

There—Felix almost missed it, but there was a gleam of pride in her eyes, pushing out the fear for a moment. “Are you going to talk me to death, Felix? Or will you get it over with already?” Her voice held steady, but Felix was watching, and her hands were shaking. She was scared alright. Felix smiled.

“Fortunately for you,” Felix said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I need you alive for a little while longer. But don’t worry. When I’m done, I’ll be sure to finish what I started.” He stepped aside, gesturing her towards the door. “Behave, or I’ll be sure to pay your roommates a visit.” He watched her blanch, and he knew he had her. She was _so_ much more cooperative when there was more than just herself on the line.

Getting her out of the apartment wasn’t hard. She drove a tiny little compact vehicle that made Felix snort. He forced her to drive towards the farm, her knuckles white around the steering wheel, and his gun pressed against her ribs. She sat stiff as a board the whole way, refusing to even look at him.

“Remember, I’m in power armor, I’ll survive the car crashing,” Felix said when he saw her starting to eye a passing truck. “You won’t. And I can guarantee there will be _no_ survivors on that farm of yours if you do that.” Not that he particularly intended to leave survivors, but he knew Jackie was weighing the odds, and they’d come out in favor of letting him make it to the farm. She’d be banking on Wash stopping him.

Felix was really looking forward to _that_ rematch.  

Felix wanted to vomit at the sight of the bright pink house—there was no mistaking what family was living here.

Once they were in the driveway, he yanked Jackie out of the car, switching out his gun for his knife, and pinning her against him as he held the knife against her throat. “Now,” he purred sweetly. “Where’s Junior?”

“Junior?” Jackie blinked confusedly, even as he pressed his knife harder against her skin, drawing blood, which made her yelp in pain. “He’s at school! It’s a Wednesday!”

Felix froze, unable to believe it. “Are you telling me an alien abomination goes to _school_? In the middle of _Iowa_?”

“Why wouldn’t he? He’s a _kid_!”

Felix groaned, shoving her away. She stumbled forward, looking over her shoulder at him, and froze as he pointed his gun at her again. “So,” he said conversationally as she turned to face him slowly. “Which ones do you think will come running first when I shoot you in the head?” It wouldn’t be as good as killing her in _front_ of Wash, but Felix figured Wash running out to the sight of his sister’s corpse might be nearly as good.

Something changed in Jackie’s expression—the fear evaporated, replaced with something that was almost smug. “The geese.”

“The what?” Felix blinked, before he cried out. “ _Fuck_!”

Felix was a city boy. His experience with birds tended to be limited to pigeons, which he had thrown rocks at when he was a kid and gutted as a teenager. So when two dozen gigantic, fluffy, white, and _evil_ birds descended on him at all sides, he had no idea what to do.

Who in their right mind would keep these things on a farm? What purpose did they have? _Why were they pecking him_?

He heard footsteps running away from him, and he cursed, batting aside the geese and giving chase. The geese followed him, letting their displeasure be loudly known, and obscuring his line of sight so he couldn’t get a clear shot. He was going to massacre them when he finished this business.

He threw open the door to the house, only to find himself on the receiving end of the shotgun.

This was not going according to plan.

* * *

“You  _fuck_ —” the doctor looked older than Locus remembered. She wore clothes like she’d been kidnapped in the first time, neat and business like and put together. The one big difference though, was the kitchen knife held in her hands. She slashed at him, sloppily—whatever combat training she had picked up on Chorus after her escape had not included knife fighting. Locus caught her hands easily, and held on to stop her from trying again.

“I am not here to hurt you,” he said. There was something wild in her eyes, and Locus wondered what was going through her mind.

“Get off her!” Washington sounded furious, grabbing Locus around the neck in a choke hold. Given that Locus was wearing armor while Washington was wearing what appeared to be jeans and a t-shirt, it wasn’t very effective, but Locus let go of Jacqueline’s arms instantly, not wanting to anger the man any further. She stumbled backwards, where the blonde sister—Michelle, Locus thought—grabbed the smaller woman and shoved her behind her back, as if intending to shelter her younger sister from Locus. The woman next to her still aimed a shotgun at Locus, her expression grim.

Locus reached up and removed his helmet, which caused Jacqueline’s head to snap up, staring at him. She’d never seen his face, in all her time as a prisoner of Charon. He wondered if he was meeting her expectations.

“I need your help,” he said, choosing to look at Jacqueline instead of Carolina or Washington. Locus suspected that her opinion would be the one that mattered here.

Her lip curled, furious in a way she’d never been while in captivity. She wasn’t afraid of him, not with her family around her. “And you came _here_?”

After the story, everyone looked at Jacqueline, waiting to see what she said.

Locus had always felt like he was under a microscope when her gaze turned icy like it was now. Normally, the doctor was cheerful, polite, and oddly kind, even at the height of her imprisonment. But when her gaze got like that, Locus was reminded that this woman was related to Agent Washington, and had a surprising capacity for manipulation.

She’d dragged down the efficiency of their bases. Guard duty with her was dreaded by all of their soldiers. In hindsight, Locus could recognize that she’d even antagonized fights between himself and Felix, and she’d certainly ensured that tensions were high between Sharkface and everyone on base. No one believed the man was stable when she could send him into a murderous rage by asking him how he was doing.

“He’s telling the truth,” Jacqueline said, although she looked like it angered her to say it.

“Jackie–” Washington said, clearly disbelieving.

“Damn it, David, I spent six months learning his tells! I could tell when he was lying in full armor, I think I can tell when I’ve got a face to go off!”

Washington wisely closed his mouth.

“Thank you,” Locus said, the irony of him thanking her not being lost on him.

She glared at him, doubtlessly thinking the same thing. “You’re going to rot in hell,” she spat, and then stalked off, heading up the staircase. Locus noticed she was careful to keep at least one person between herself and him at all times.  

Agent Carolina stepped up. “Anyone who wants to come, get your things ready. We’ll move out in half an hour.” Locus wanted to protest how long that was, but he didn’t push his luck. As it was, Michelle had throwing knives, and held them like she knew how to use them. He didn’t doubt that she wouldn’t lose a night’s sleep over using him as target practice.

“Get out of my house,” Michelle said firmly, glaring at him. Unlike Washington or the doctor, her eyes were brown. “Wait outside or something. You probably should avoid the geese–they don’t like people Jackie hates.”

Locus decided that waiting outside would be the best course of action.

He did take care, however, to avoid the geese.

* * *

Jackie didn’t leave the farm for the rest of the week. Even after she went back to work—against Mitch and Martha’s protests—she went back at night, sleeping on the couch. She didn’t feel safe at her apartment, not while Felix was still alive and free.

Bad enough that Locus and Felix had been in the living room, bad enough that her brothers were with Locus, bad enough that she’d told them to go. It was all terrible, and Jackie woke up screaming every night.

She called her therapist every day until the call came.

“Felix is dead,” David told her, and Jackie felt her shoulders nearly collapse in relief.

“Locus?”

“In custody,” David said, reassuringly. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“And Charlie?”

Surprise flickered across David’s face. “She’s fine.”

“I doubt that,” Jackie murmured quietly, tapping her fingers thoughtfully on the table. “Not after Felix.”

David made a face that meant he agreed.

“We’ll be home soon,” he promised.

And they were. With Charlie.

Jackie went to visit Locus once, and only once. She didn’t tell her family she’d gone.

And she learned to love with the cute alien kid who hid in the big willow tree from the geese, even if she wore a shade of green that haunted Jackie’s nightmares.

* * *

Charlie knew Aunt Jackie was good at her job. She didn’t, however, know that Jackie was considered an expert on Felix until she was fifteen.

Aunt Jackie had promised to take Charlie to the local fair that day, so Charlie went to her office to wait for Jackie to finish her appointments.

Aunt Jackie’s receptionist was new to town. She didn’t know Charlie all that well, and certainly didn’t know Charlie’s story. But luckily, she seemed to take the whole alien thing in stride. She gave Charlie a bottle of water and a snack bar from her drawer, and chatted with Charlie while they waited for Aunt Jackie to finish up with her meeting.

“What’s that?” Charlie poked at a pile of envelopes on the desk.

“Invitations,” the receptionist said. “Your Auntie’s pretty famous. Apparently she was kidnapped by some war criminals, and wrote a big book about it. Fairly groundbreaking in certain circles. So, a lot of people want her to come talk about it. She never goes; hates public speaking, or at least that’s what she told me. But they send the letters anyways.”

“She wrote a book?” Charlie had never heard about that.

“She writes a lot of stuff,” the receptionist waved her hand vaguely. “Mainly articles. But yeah, that book’s her big thing. Actually got published and everything. But that was years and years ago. Probably before you were born.”

Charlie doubted it.

She peered at the bookshelf that was in the waiting room. “Does she have a copy here?”

Jackie didn’t like to talk about Felix to Charlie. It was hard for her to talk about those days, although Charlie knew Jackie did with her therapist. And she was also reluctant to scare Charlie, even though Charlie understood better than just about anyone. Even when they were having their late night nightmare talks, Jackie didn’t tell Charlie everything.

Charlie wasn’t even sure how long Felix had kept Jackie prisoner for, although she knew it was for a long time. There was a scar on Aunt Jackie’s arm that nearly stretched from her elbow to her wrist, and Charlie knew Felix had caused it. But the rest was a mystery. 

“Nah,” the receptionist—Charlie really hoped she got her nameplate updated soon, so she could remember her name—said. “She said she has too many kids in the waiting room to keep a copy here. She probably has a copy laying around somewhere in her apartment or something. You should ask her.”

“Thanks,” Charlie said, although she knew Aunt Jackie would never tell her anything about that book. “I will.”

* * *

Aunt Jackie had a small apartment in town, where she lived alone, even though she didn’t spend all that much time there. Aunt Mitch said Jackie mostly kept the apartment so she had enough room for her books. Jackie said she just wanted to be able to wake up late some days instead of making the drive into town.

Jackie stayed at the farm on most weekends, which made it very easy to break into her apartment when Charlie and Lauren were supposed to be seeing a movie in town.

The apartment was a two bedroom, but the second bedroom had been converted into an office where Jackie did her work. Although Charlie, Lauren, and the cousins had come over frequently, none of them had ever been in it. Before, Charlie had never really thought about it.

Lauren was very good at breaking and entering. She picked the lock quickly, and punched in Jackie’s security code. Charlie wasn’t sure how Lauren knew that. She wasn’t sure she _wanted_ to know.

Jackie’s study was lined with bookshelves, all packed with volumes on psychology. Charlie made a beeline for the smallest shelf, which was stocked mostly with journals, all of them which contained articles that Jackie had written.

Charlie found what she was looking for quickly enough. It wasn’t a mass printed copy, but instead a rough, hardback version with clunky looking type. The cover was charcoal grey, without any dust jacket or cover image.

 _A Study of Violent Personalities During the Chorus Civil War_ was the title.

Charlie cracked it open, unable to contain her curiosity.

 _Mercenaries and Bureaucrats_ was the title of the introduction.

“ _Before my captivity, I was uninvolved with the Chorus Civil War. I hadn’t even heard of Chorus before I ended up there._

 _It was pure chance that I captured; a combination of familial connections and the perception of being an easy target that lead me to meet Hargrove, Felix, and Locus_.”

Charlie leaned away from the book as if burned.

What was Father doing in Aunt Jackie’s book? She’d only rarely even mentioned Father. He’d certainly never come up during their conversations about Felix or their nightmares.

Fear making her stomach turn cartwheels, Charlie flipped to the table of contents.

There were three main sections. And Charlie stared at the second one, feeling oddly numb.

 ** _Locus_**.

The chapters in that section had titles were incongruous but terrifying like _Depersonalization and Violence_ , _Orders_ , and _Locus and Felix: Fear and Manipulations_.

The book wasn’t about Felix. This book was about Felix _and_ her father.

Lauren put her head in. “Are we good? We should really get back to the theater so Simmons can pick us up.”

Charlie hesitated, and then stuffed the book into her sweater, concealing it from sight. “We’re good,” she reassured Lauren.

They went back to the theater and read a summary of the movie so they could talk about it when Uncle Simmons tried to ask them questions.

Charlie went to bed early that night, heading straight for her room, not looking any of her uncles or aunts in the eye.  

She read the book under the covers with her flashlight.  

Aunt Jackie wrote in a concise, clinical way, but Charlie could read between the lines. Her observations about Father and Felix were offset with mentions of casual violence and the harshness of confinement.

“ _Violence was a tool for Locus when it came to prisoners. He did not seek necessarily to injure unless he had orders to do so—although he was Hargrove’s preferred disciplinarian, probably due to his predictability. When Locus injured me on his own volition, however, the goal tended to be to silence me—usually prompted by me asking him a question he did not wish to think about. Usually, the question had to do with his relationship with Felix (see Chapter Nine for more details.)_ ”

Charlie didn’t want to check Chapter Nine. She wanted to have never found out about any of this. She wanted to never have heard of this book.

But she got up, clutching the book to her chest.

Aunt Jackie was here tonight, and she needed to _know_.

* * *

Jackie was curled up on the couch in Wash’s house—she hadn’t wanted to go back to the apartment that night, and even after all these years had passed, with Locus in jail and Felix and Sharkface dead, she felt safer knowing David was nearby. It soothed her nightmares.  

Someone nudged her, and Jackie stirred slowly, hoping she hadn’t been having a nightmare. It was always embarrassing to wake up screaming when the kids were in the house.

She blinked when she saw Charlie, clinging a book against her chest, hugging it almost like a security blanket. 

“Is it true?” Charlie honked at her.

“Is what true, Charlie?” Jackie brushed the sleep out of her eyes, confused. Jackie was not coherent after being woken up anymore. Back on Chorus, she could move from sleep to watchfulness in moments, but years on the farm had slowly allowed her to relax again.

“Did Father keep you captive?” Charlie held out the book, and Jackie froze, recognizing it. 

Jackie knew what it would be before she even grabbed her glasses so she could read the title. The book she had written about the psychology of the mercenaries and Hargrove. The book she and the others had been trying to hide from Charlie for years.

She swallowed, her throat dry. “Who gave you that?” It wasn’t even the mass-market paperback that she knew that could be bought. Or a digital copy on a datapad. This was one of the academic copies that she’d had to pay to get printed to send it out to publishers. Where had Charlie gotten her hands on one?

“ _Did he_?” Charlie pressed.

Jackie stared at the book, turning it over in her hands. “Yes,” she said quietly. “It—it was a long time ago, Charlie.”

Charlie let out a miserable sounding blargh. “ _Why_?”

Jackie bit her lip. “I think you should ask him about that, Charlie,” she said delicately. 

Charlie had known that Jackie had been captured at some time during the war, of course—it had been one of the first things that they had talked about. Jackie had been present when Charlie woke up screaming, and had ended up helping calm her down. Later that night, drinking cups of sugary, milky tea, Jackie had taken a deep breath.

“Did he kill people in front of you too?”

Charlie had frozen, eyes wide as she stared at Jackie. “You—”

“Back during the war,” Jackie had said, reaching out and placing a hand on top of Charlie’s own. “He’d bring in other prisoners. He couldn’t kill me yet. But he wanted to be sure that I knew what would happen.”

Charlie had stared at her. “Do the nightmares go away?” She had asked, which was enough of an answer for Jackie. She had resolved to take up the issue of therapy with Tucker in the morning.

Jackie had desperately wanted to say “yes”.

“Not completely,” she had said, instead. “But they get better.”

“Father was there?” Charlie was saying now, jerking Jackie back to the present. “When Felix captured you?”

Jackie swallowed. “You _really_ need to talk to him about this.”

“Why didn’t you _tell me_?” Charlie demanded, looking like she was about to cry.

Jackie sighed. “Because it’s hard enough for you, knowing all those things about your dad, without me bringing my problems into it.” Jackie had long since determined that she was _not_ going to dump her Locus baggage onto Charlie. The kid had enough issues with that.

“He _hurt you_ ,” Jackie flinched. She hadn’t realized Charlie would have reached that part of the book without confronting her. But then, she’d probably skipped the chapters about Felix once she’d gotten to the table of contents.

“Alright, I’m calling the prison,” Jackie said, getting to her feet. “We’re taking you to visit _tomorrow_.”

* * *

Locus wasn’t sure why Charlie’s visitation date had changed. Whoever had placed the call hadn’t given an explanation. He was led into the divided room, and sat down on his side of the glass to wait.

He couldn’t help but tense up slightly when he saw Jacqueline following Charlie into the room. It had been years since he had seen the doctor, and he had been given the impression that it would be the last. He had a hard time believing that Washington would let her accompany Charlie unless something was very wrong.

Charlie seemed oddly subdued as she looked at him. Jacqueline barely glanced at Locus as she pulled Charlie into a quick hug, before sitting down at the couch in the far end of the room.

“Is something wrong?” He asked Charlie.

Charlie looked at him, and reached into the bag she was carrying.

A book thumped onto the table.

_A Study of Violent Personalities During the Chorus Civil War._

“You hurt Aunt Jackie,” Charlie said, accusing.

“Where did you get that?” Locus asked. He risked a glance up towards Jacqueline.

“Why?” Charlie demanded.

“Did you give her this?” Locus asked Jacqueline, anger flaring. They’d _agreed_ —

“Talk to your kid, Locus,” Jacqueline snapped, getting to her feet and resting a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie seemed almost hunched over on herself. “Don’t deflect, give her answers.” She paused, before adding. “And no. She and Lauren broke into my apartment to steal my advance copy. And they’re both _very_ grounded for it.”

* * *

“She was leverage against Agent Washington,” Locus said, and Jackie wanted to scream at the calm way he described it.

Being here was a mistake. She should have told Mitch, Mitch would have come instead. Mitch would have been better at this. She should have told _anyone_.

But no. She’d made the decision to lie to Charlie—by omission if nothing else. She had to deal with the consequences.

“You _hurt her_ ,” Charlie said, and didn’t Jackie know it. She wanted to grab that book and keep it away from Charlie forever. She just had to pray the kid had stopped early on. She just had to hope she hadn’t done too much damage.

She’d had only one conversation with Locus since Charlie had entered her life. She’d gone to visit him privately.

That was when she’d found out that he’d read her book. No longer disassociating himself from his actions, instead he’d seemed to settle on a deep self-loathing that a part of Jackie couldn’t help but be satisfied by. He hadn’t been angered by anything she’d written, not even her analysis of his relationship with Felix or her cold descriptions of her own manipulations.

It hadn’t taken long for them to agree that Charlie should _never_ see the book.

She hadn’t wanted to let her own baggage drag her niece down. Charlie already struggled with her father’s legacy without realizing the direct impacts the man had on her family.

Her fingernails dug into the palm of her hands, and she forced herself to relax. Her phone rang. _Carolina_. She frowned, noticing it.

“Charlie, I’m going to step outside quickly, okay?” She nodded at her, and answered her phone. “Yes?”

“Where are you? Your assistant said you’re not in your office, and Charlie’s not in school, and they said you signed her out—”

“I’m fine, Carolina,” Jackie said. “I—Charlie found my book.”

There was a pause. “Shit,” Carolina said softly. “Where are you?”

Jackie took a deep breath. “The prison.”

Something shattered on the other end. “ _Jackie_!”

“She needed to talk to him, Carolina,” she snapped. “And it’s my fault that she’s this upset—”

“It’s not your fault,” Carolina said fiercely. “Don’t you blame yourself for this—”

“I published the book, didn’t I? This is my responsibility.”

“Jackie—” Jackie looked up, and saw the guard holding up five fingers. Charlie had five minutes left.

“Look, I’ve got to go, I’ll talk to you later,” Jackie said, hanging up. She took another breath, and went back inside.

* * *

“Why did you do it?” Charlie felt like her heart was being squeezed. Nothing felt right. It was like the colors of the world were wrong.

She knew her father had done bad things; she couldn’t avoid it. But he was supposed to have been following orders. Not hurting Jackie. Jackie wasn’t a soldier. Jackie wasn’t a threat. Jackie wasn’t _orders_.

Jackie made Charlie cups of tea after nightmares. Jackie was friends with _everything_ , including _geese_. Jackie was small and delicate and slept on Uncle Wash’s couch some nights.

Father looked slightly confused. “She was leverage—” He started to say again, but he wasn’t getting it.

“Why did you hurt her?” Charlie demanded.

Father looked away, unable to meet her eyes. “I lashed out because she was telling me things I was not ready to hear. It is not something I can ever apologize for. Except to understand what she told me then as the fact it has proven to be.”

Charlie stared at him. Once she had been saddened that she didn’t look like her father. Now a part of her was grateful. “You ruin everything,” she said, quiet and bitter.

“Charlie please,” Father said, but Charlie didn’t want to hear it.

“Stop it!” Charlie said. “You’ve done enough! First Aunt Kimball, now Aunt Jackie! They both hate me because of _you_!”

Father placed his hand against the glass, as if trying to comfort her. His handcuff chains made a clinking noise. “Charlie. Jacqueline doesn’t hate you. She is not like Kimball.”

“Or maybe she’s just better at hiding it from you,” Charlie said. “She’s lied to you before.”

There was a moment of terrible silence.

“Charlie?” Jackie said, returning to the room. She was holding her phone. “Five minutes.”

Charlie stared at her father. “I’m done,” she said, getting out of her seat. “We can go.”

Charlie didn’t look back at her father as they left. Instead she looked at Aunt Jackie. She was pale and her glasses were askew. Her hair was starting to come out of its bun, and her jacket was unbuttoned. She looked terrible. Charlie had never seen her like this. Aunt Jackie was always put-together.

She didn’t like it.

 “Wait here please, Charlie,” Jackie said as they exited the visitation room. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Charlie waited for a moment, then followed anyways. She didn’t really feel like letting Jackie out of her sight right then. And she certainly didn’t want to stay so close to her father.

She pushed open the door to the bathroom quietly.

There was a gagging noise, and Charlie froze, realizing that Aunt Jackie was throwing up in one of the stalls.

“You’re not there, Jackie, you’re not there,” she heard Jackie say to herself. “He can’t hurt you, you’re not there. It’s over. They got you out. You’re not there.” Charlie quickly closed the door and moved away as she heard Jackie scramble with the lock on the bathroom stall. Water ran, and there were splashing noises, as if Jackie was putting water on her face instead of just washing her hands.

“Get Charlie home. Freak out later,” Jackie muttered. “Get Charlie home. Freak out later. Compartmentalize, Jacks. You can do this.”

Charlie ran back to where Aunt Jackie had left her, not liking the twisting feeling in her stomach.

* * *

“You did _what_?” Aunt Martha sounded furious.

“I took Charlie to see her father.” There was a clink of china and a gurgle of the coffee maker.

“Jackie!” Martha yelled. A chair scrapped across the floor “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Charlie made sure that they couldn’t see her as she perched on top of the staircase. She’d known Aunt Martha had never liked her father, but she’d never heard her be _this_ angry about him.

“Martha, keep your voice down,” Jackie snapped. The refrigerator opened. “You’ll wake her up.”

“I’m serious Jackie! You still have fucking nightmares about that asshole once a week, and you decided to go _see him_?”

“Charlie found my book, Martha,” Jackie said, sounding tired. There was a pause as the coffee maker beeped, and the sound of liquid being poured. “I owed her that much.”

“It’s not about _owing_ , Jackie! It’s about you looking after yourself! Last time you went to see him you couldn’t sleep for a week!”

“Which is why I’m here instead of at home,” Jackie said.

“And that has nothing to do with the fact that your apartment was broken into again.”

There was a clatter, as if something breakable hit the floor.

 _Again_?

“Don’t—Martha, just— _don’t_.”

“Jackie, I know it was a rough time for you, it’s okay to be stressed about it. Just… don’t lie to me. Please.”

Jackie scoffed. “What Charlie and Lauren did is _nothing_ like what Felix did, okay? I’m fine.”

Charlie withdraws instantly, feeling frozen inside.

She’d thought Father was right, that she’d been projecting when she thought that Aunt Jackie hated her.

But no.

She was right after all.

Aunt Jackie had taken the book, but Charlie didn’t doubt she could find it online.

She needed more answers.

* * *

 

_Over my captivity, I determined that Locus was very susceptible to manipulation. I quickly concluded that, although he was likely to injure me on his own, when present when Felix or Sharkface where attempting to do the same, he would intervene before I was too badly hurt. I took advantage of this, using it to drive a wedge between Locus and the others._

_I also talked to Locus about his state of mind and his relationship about Felix frequently. Although he did not respond to my questions, he would react to my analysis very clearly. Once, when I suggested that Felix was manipulating him (a conclusion I had drawn after observing the two of them together, see Chapter Nine), he struck me so hard that my head collided with the wall, giving me a concussion._

_Although by my estimates, Locus was the least likely of my captors to kill me accidentally or in a moment of rage, I always had to step carefully. I knew that if Locus realized I was manipulating him, he would not hesitate to kill me._

Charlie closed the window on her datapad, wanting to curl up under the covers.

She’d known her father had done bad things—it was hard not to, especially after Aunt Kimball. But it was one thing to know, and another to see it spelled out like this.

He’d given Aunt Jackie a concussion for telling him the truth.

No wonder Aunt Jackie hated her.

* * *

Jackie was getting ready for work when the phone call came.

“Jackie?” It was Carolina. “Jackie, _please_ tell me Charlie’s at your place!”

Jackie froze, and ran into her living room, looking for any sign of her niece on her couch. “No,” she said.

“Damn it! She’s not at the farm either!”

Jackie cursed. “I’m heading over,” she said, grabbing her purse.

“She was at Wash’s last night, meet us at the farm,” Carolina said, and hung up.

Jackie ran to her car and quickly started up the engine.

The farm was in chaos when she arrived. She was the last one there.

“No one’s told Locus, right?” She demanded. Everyone shook their heads.

“Any sign of a struggle?” Carolina asked Wash, eyes bright. Tucker and Wash shook their heads again.

“You think she was kidnapped?” Jackie asked, her stomach feeling heavy.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Mitch pointed out. Her shirt was buttoned unevenly, giving her a lopsided and frantic look.

“But they didn’t take Junior!” Simmons said. “Why would they only take—”

“You think this has something to do with Locus?” Grif asked him.

“Might,” Mitch said, brow furrowed. “He certainly didn’t make a lot of friends.”

“I found a note!” Lauren burst through the front door, a piece of notebook paper in her hands. Everyone instantly crowded around her, trying to see. Carolina plucked it out of Lauren’s hands and started reading.

 _She ran away_? Jackie frowned.

She thought about Charlie’s behavior over the past few weeks. She’d been skittish. Quiet. Upset. She hadn’t talked to Jackie much, although Jackie couldn’t really blame her. Not after figuring out that her aunt had written a book about her father.

Jackie’s head hadn’t been in a good place since seeing Locus again. Her nightmares were back in full-force, and she’d been struggling just to keep everything together. She hadn’t really had time to notice the signs. Charlie was upset with her.

She headed over to Wash’s house, and went into Charlie’s room. Charlie had left her datapad, and Jackie turned it on.

_Months of observation only served to reinforce my initial analysis that Locus chose to depersonalize both as a coping mechanism and in order to avoid guilt for his actions. It is possible that this depersonalization began even before he turned to mercenary work, although I have no data to support this theory. Neither Locus and Felix ever commented on their life before Chorus to me, although I later learned that they had served together in the military. A high-stress environment like the war—_

Jackie dropped the pad.

She’d been reading the book.

“Damn it, Charlie,” she whispered. She rubbed her forehead.

She needed to call Locus.

On the list of things Jackie didn’t want to do, getting on the phone with her former captor was fairly high up there. But this was about _Charlie_. And if Jackie couldn’t break her rules for her niece, Jackie wasn’t sure if she could look herself in the mirror anymore.

“Doctor,” Locus sounded as surprised as she was. “Is something wrong with Charlie?” He was perceptive in his own ways. Probably came with being a sniper.

“Not really,” she lied easily. Locus knowing that Charlie was missing could not end well. “She’s just been acting odd lately, and I was wondering if she’s said anything to you.”

Locus was silent on the other end. 

“Locus, she’s been avoiding me, and I think she might have been reading my book on the internet. She’s been sleeping badly. I think her nightmares are getting worse.” The last one was a guess, but an educated one. And she knew that Charlie having nightmares would motivate Locus into telling the truth. Manipulating Locus was still like second nature, even after all these years. 

Locus was very quiet, clearly trying to decide. “She is under the impression that you hold a grudge against her because of me.”

“Like Kimball?” Jackie demanded. “She thinks I’m like—damn it!” She took a deep breath. Of course she would. Why wouldn’t she? After what Kimball had pulled, after finding the book, after figuring out how good of a liar Jackie was, it was no wonder that Charlie had come to that conclusion. And Jackie certainly hadn’t helped by being wrapped up in her own problems. She should have talked to Charlie the minute they left the prison. It was days like these that made Jackie regret not taking more child psychology courses in college. “Thank you.” The words slipped out automatically, and she felt her breath catch.

“Don’t thank me,” he said, just as automatically.

Jackie froze, all the old memories threatening to surface in that moment, before she refocused herself. _Charlie_. They both sat there in silence, before Jackie recovered. “You’re still an asshole,” she told him before hanging up. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“Gotta find her,” she muttered. She picked up Charlie’s datapad again, and looked through her search history.

 _There_. Bus schedule.

Time to go collect her wayward niece.

* * *

“Charlie Carolina Tucker!” Charlie froze at the sound of her full name.

“Aunt Jackie?”

“There you are!” Jackie looked terrible. And she was wearing _flats_. “Charlie, we’ve all been worried sick!”

“Where are the others?” Charlie asked, shoulders slumping. They wouldn’t be far behind, she was sure.

“They’re not here,” Jackie said firmly. “I think it’s long overdue we talked, don’t you?” She held out Charlie’s datapad. Charlie froze again. “Charlie,” she said quietly. “I thought I said you shouldn’t read this.”

“I need to _know_ ,” Charlie said.

“Then you ask me, Charlie,” Jackie’s lips were almost invisible. “Charlie, I wrote that book years ago. Some parts of that book would not be the same if I knew then what I knew now. And other parts of it are meant for a psychological perspective.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Charlie asked, hugging her duffle bag to her chest.

“Because you’re a _kid_ , Charlie,” Jackie said. Charlie had been taller than Aunt Jackie for so long, but Jackie seemed to be even shorter now, her shoulders sagging. “You don’t deserve to have that sort of thing hanging over you. You’re my niece, Charlie. Who your dad is doesn’t change that, or what he—what happened.”

“What he did,” Charlie finished quietly. Jackie hesitated, then nodded.

“What he did,” she agreed. She reached out and squeezed Charlie’s arm.

“He’s my father,” Charlie said, shoulders going up defensively.

“I know he is. And I don’t care. It’s fine that you love him, Charlie. He was a good father to you, even if he’s… done some bad things.” Her hand made an aborted motion towards the back of her head, as if she wanted to cradle a scar that Charlie now knew was there. From her father giving her a concussion.

“He hurt you.”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. You’re my niece. My ridiculously tall niece, who is so very grounded.”

Charlie slumped, nodding in acquiescence.

“Now, let’s get you home, so we can call off the search. Then, someone who isn’t me has to tell your father what happened.” Jackie steered Charlie to her car.

“Aunt Jackie?” Charlie finally asked, when they pulled out of the parking lot. 

“Yes Charlie?”

“When did Felix break into your apartment?”

Jackie slammed on the breaks. “Ah, shit,” she grumbled.


	2. Dying is Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The minute I decided I was going to kill Martha in [Here Comes the General](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6559513/chapters/15646495), I was kind of sad, because, aww, Martha will never get her vengeance.
> 
> Then I realized, I’m the author, I can do what I want. I can have ghosts exist if I want them to, and Locus really deserves to be haunted. 
> 
> Once again, Charlie verse is fully in play here. Thanks Iz for letting me borrow Charlie for these shenanigans. 
> 
> Warnings for: Child endangerment, kidnapping, some death, and grief. Also Locus being kind of terrible.

She doesn’t appear until he leaves Chorus.

The first time she appears she’s wearing full armor, and she seems to be just as surprised as he is. She tries to attack him, and that’s how they figure out she’s incorporeal.

Locus wonders if she’s a hallucination. He wonders if it has to do with the sword, which once belonged to her, now hanging at his side.

“Bug fucker,” she hisses at him, and he doesn’t respond to her. He tries not to engage, tries to tune out. She calls him names, she threatens him. She doesn’t know what happened after the explosion, and she keeps demanding to know where his “boyfriend” is. He has to assume she means Felix, and he tries not to flinch every time she does it, because reacting only seems to encourage her.

She tells him what exactly she wants to do to him, with varying degrees of intensity depending on if she’s assuming he’s killed her brothers.

“They’re alive,” he finally tells her. And with that, her form flickers and disappears for three whole hours.

When she comes back, she’s changed. She’s no longer in armor, instead wearing an ordinary looking yellow shirt and a pair of jeans. Her hair is in a ponytail. He sees every scar on her arms and face, and it’s almost uncomfortable.

“They’re going to catch you, hobbit boy,” she tells him, and he wishes she had a helmet, because her gaze is too calm and steady. “I know my brothers.”

“You barely even spoke to Washington,” he snaps, and that’s when they learn she can, apparently, throw things at him.

She’s delighted by this discovery, and spends the next twenty-four hours trying to kill him by getting him to crash. It apparently exhausts her to the point that she can no longer maintain a physical form, because she disappears for five hours this time.

This time, when she returns, it’s in armor again. Locus is glad. It’s unnerving, seeing the General’s face.

“I hope you die,” she tells him. “I hope you die in a nuclear explosion, because let me tell you, it wasn’t pleasant.”

“I noticed,” he says back, dryly. “Dying hasn’t seemed to have improved your temper, General.”

“And you killed me. Don’t think I forgot that, _pendejo_.”

“You spent too much time with the robot,” Locus says, keeping his eyes straight ahead of him.

“Don’t insult the robot, douche-canoe, or I’ll try to crash this fucking ship again.”

“Because that worked so well for you last time.”

“It would probably be worth it,” she says. “Wait, scratch that, it would totally be worth it, because I fucking can’t leave for some reason, so maybe killing you would put my soul to rest or some bullshit like that.”

Locus grounds the ship shortly after that.

She keeps following him, her appearance constantly shifting, depending on her mood or inclination. In armor, out of armor, old, young, scarred and unscarred. She’s the General sometimes, others the young, inexperienced soldier he remembers meeting on the front lines, surrounded by her dead colleagues, who gave him one look and asked him if he was the cavalry, and if he was, to hurry his ass up and help her kill the “Rebel bastards.” The only constant thing is her biting words.

“You killed me, traitor,” she says to him. “David won’t forget that. He’s hunting you.”

“I know,” he says. Washington will hunt him to the edge of the galaxy. Which is why he has to keep moving. He can’t ever stop.

She can’t leave him. She tries. It never works, and every time she tries, she rips apart Locus’s camp in rage, screaming. She wants to find her brothers. Every time he skirts by civilization, she does her best to try to draw attention to him. Locus is fairly certain that’s how Agent Washington and Private Donut find his trail.

He spots them before she does, and he takes off running. He is not about to go to prison.

“David! Frank!” She yells, pulled along with him by the force of whatever bond it is that connects them. It’s no use. Her brothers cannot hear her, as blind and deaf to her presence as the rest of the world.

They find him three more times, after that, before he finally manages to lose them. He takes a knife to the shoulder and he has to pull shrapnel out of his side from a grenade thrown by the younger brother. They’re trying to kill him. The General is pleased, although her mood sours when it becomes apparent he’s managed to lose them for good this time.

She makes his life as difficult as she can. She puts salt in his food, she opens the flaps of his tent on rainy nights. Anything he fixes is usually ripped apart as soon as his back is turned. She can’t touch him, for whatever reason, but she can throw things at him, and she does with great aplomb, usually as punctuation for her latest insults.

She’s figured out Felix is a sore spot, and she’s been needling him about it lately, until he snaps at her that Felix is dead and that he helped kill him.

“Huh,” she says, hands on her hips, her armor appearing around her in a flicker of light. “I can almost respect you for that, Invisible Dick.” She pauses. “But if his ghost shows up I’m going to shove my entire foot up his ass.”

“You couldn’t beat him,” Locus says.

He doesn’t know what she does to his meal that night, but he has food poisoning for three days after that.

* * *

Apparently, there’s a caveat about having an alien sword that no one thought to tell them about.

“You’re fucking _pregnant_ , oh my god.”

“Silence,” Locus says through gritted teeth.

“Oh my god, who thought giving the genocidal foliage fucker a kid was a good idea, I am going to hunt them down and shame them. I would haunt them if I wasn’t haunting you.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“You know the answer to that,” the General points out.

He has the child. He nearly leaves her, until he hears what they might do to her. Then he takes her and runs, his ghost following, still cursing him.

“Fucking take her to my brothers,” she snaps. “They’ll look after her. Keep her safe, if that’s what you’re worried about. Turn yourself in while you’re at it.’

“No,” he says, simply.

“You can’t even hold her right,” she hisses. “After everything you’ve done, do you think you can be a _father_? She’s not your redemption, jackass! She deserves better than that!”

He doesn’t respond to her, and she disappears again.

“You need to name her,” she says, days later, when she reappears. She’s wearing a plaid shirt that he hasn’t seen before, and she looks younger. Almost painfully young. Her scars are gone, except for the one on her lip. He pauses, realizing she might still be a teenager right now. This is who she was before the army. “If you’re going to keep her, you need to name her.” She won’t get close to him, but her eyes are firmly on the child.

He looks down at the child in his lap. He glances up at the ghost for a second.

“If you name her after me, I will write ‘douchebag’ on your face while you’re asleep again. My sister would have a fucking field day with that. Probably at least three fucking papers.”

“Charlie,” he says, after a moment. It’s sentimental, it’s foolish, but he can’t help it.

“After the fucking alphabet?”

“No,” he says. He’s holding her right now. He knows he is, because the General hasn’t said differently. There’s no way she would have kept silence if he was going to hurt Charlie. “After… someone else.”

She squints at him. “You’re a piece of work.”

He says nothing. He just looks down at his daughter, and ignores the ghost.

* * *

Charlie knows her father talks to someone who isn’t there sometimes. He tries not to do it when she’s in the room, but she hears him often enough. Usually it’s short comments, requests for silence. But sometimes it’s almost a conversation.

“You’re starting to repeat your insults,” she hears him say one day, while she’s supposed to be asleep. He’s checking in on her.

Charlie’s tried to ask him about it before. He never gives her a straight answer. It’s just one of those things about her father.

She wonders why she can’t see whoever it is he’s talking to, though.

But sometimes at night, right before she goes to sleep, she thinks she sees a woman with brown hair, sitting at the foot of her bed.

Years later, Aunt Jackie shows her a photograph of a woman named Martha, who died in the war and was a hero, and Charlie nearly screams.

* * *

“Locus!”

She’s never used his name. In all her years of haunting him, she’s never used his name. It’s almost an echo back to the days when he worked for her, when she’d respected him, when they’d worked together.

It tells him that something is terribly wrong.

“Locus, get back to the house, _now_!”

Her form is in full armor, but it’s flickering rapidly, torn between that form and the youngest version of herself. Every now and then, Locus spots a version of her that seems to almost be glowing, like she must have looked like before she’d died. It hurts his eyes to look at.

Years ago, they discovered she could follow Charlie around as well as him. She usually prefers to stay at the house with Charlie, keeping an eye on things. It takes energy to jump between the two of them. She’s only done it once before.

“Felix is alive! You said you killed him! He’s here for Charlie, I can’t—” She flickers out for a second. “I’m going back! Come quickly!” She vanishes.

Locus _runs_.

When he gets back, there’s no sign of the child, or the General. Furniture is smashed to pieces.

There’s a helmet and a note, and he knows that his daughter is almost certainly dead. The General probably expended herself trying to fight Felix off.

He takes Charlie’s blanket.

He goes to get the General’s brothers.

* * *

“Murderer,” Washington says, his knife pressed against Locus’s throat. Locus almost wishes that the General was here. She’d know what to say to calm her brother down. But her ghost hasn’t reappeared yet. She’s never been gone so long before. A part of him dares to hope that her not coming back means that she’s with Charlie. But he’s never seen the kind of chaos that the General left at the house before, either. She could still not have the energy to reform.

“My daughter,” he says, instead.

They listen. They don’t believe him. They come anyway, because of Felix.

He does not think she’s alive. He’s going to bury his daughter, and that’s it. He doesn’t doubt Felix still has her body. He knows Felix better than he knows himself, sometimes, even if he had not allowed himself to see it previously.

They finally find him, and he’s nearly bowled over by the force of the General appearing.

“About time you got here, hobbit boy,” she snaps. “The kid’s been worried sick.”

“She’s alive?” He whispers.

She blinks. “Oh. Yes. She’s alive. Come on, I’ll lead you to her.”

“Locus?” Washington demands, and the General’s form flickers, settling on her youngest form again.

“You went to the farm? You got my brothers?”

He ignores her.

She follows him to fight Felix, but she’s cursing him the whole way. “Go to your _kid_!” She screams, furious at him for his priorities, for his need to ensure that Felix will never threaten her again. “Go to your fucking kid!”

When Felix is dead again, and his daughter is in his arms, the General looks at him. “They wouldn’t be so impressed with your parenting if they knew you’d known she was alive, you bastard,” she hisses.

“Quiet,” he says.

“What was that?” Carolina demands, and the General straightens up, looking at them. They still can’t see her.  

“Tell them,” the General says. “Fucking tell them.”

Locus keeps his mouth shut.

“ _Tell them_!” The General sounds almost frantic, desperate. “Tell them, oh my god, let me talk to them, you fucking _dick_.”

He ignores her. He’s gotten good at that over the years.

She tries to throw his helmet at him, but she’s expended herself too much over the past few weeks. She’s been holding on with everything she has for Charlie, and now that it’s over, it’s too much.

She vanishes.

When she returns, months have passed. He’s in prison.

And Locus thinks she hates him even more for that betrayal than for her death.

When he had kept Charlie, they had called a truce.

Now she has one goal only. To make his life miserable.

* * *

When Charlie is five she is kidnapped by Felix.

She never tells anyone about the strange things that happened. About the way furniture flew whenever Felix got close, or about how she sometimes thought she’d see a woman hunched over her before she goes to sleep, eyes wide with worry.

She always is wearing a golden shirt. Her hair is in a ponytail, and she has eyes like Aunt Mitch.

She thinks she made her up. A pretend mother, or something similar.

Father still talks to someone, sometimes. It’s less now, but she sees the way he twitches sometimes, when she visits him, and he sometimes snaps, and mutters something too quietly for her to hear.

Only once does she hear him address the voice that only he can hear.

He calls it General.

When she turns fifteen she asks him about it. He tells her it’s nothing. “Just an old man and his ghosts,” he says.

She doesn’t realize he’s being literal until she turns eighteen, when Aunt Jackie tells her the story of Aunt Martha.

Eighteen means a lot of things. It means that, for the first time, people will answer her questions about her father and the things he’s done.

It means that Aunt Jackie takes out the old photo album.

It means that Charlie sees a woman named Martha, smiling out at her from a photo album.

A woman Charlie hasn’t seen since she was five.

She goes to her father. “Who is Martha?” She demands. “Is she the General?”

“Charlie.”

“I saw her!” Charlie says. “I saw her, when Felix took me, and it was real, wasn’t it?”

Her father looks at her. His eyes are just like hers. “Charlie. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

He’s lying to her, she thinks, her blood cold. She leaves.

Three weeks later, she gets her own sword. Well. It’s her father’s sword. Aunt Carolina got it for her.

“Oh wow, he’s going to be _pissed_!” There’s a voice that Charlie’s never heard before, right behind her. “He really bought the doctor thing. To tell him, or not to tell him. That is the question.”

Charlie spins around, sword raised.

She hasn’t changed. Her eyes are wide and brown, and almost like Aunt Mitch’s, except they’re cold and angry where Aunt Mitch’s are warm and kind.

She nearly drops the sword. “Martha?”

The woman freezes. “You can see me?”

“You’re right there!”

The woman lunges forward, trying to grab Charlie’s arm. “You can see me! You can hear me!” Her fingers pass through Charlie’s skin, and her flesh crawls.

“You—Father was lying!”

“He does that a lot, that trashcan fucking cocksucker,” Martha says. Charlie stares at her. Martha grins widely. “He’s going to _hate this_.”

She goes to visit Father next week. Martha is leaning against the glass, cheerfully insulting Father, while Father ignores her. Charlie wonders if Martha has been there for everything. She suspects that it’s the case.

Martha hasn’t told Father, she realizes as she sits down.

“You know, I’d bet fifty bucks that the skinny kid who’s been eying you in the courtyard takes a swing at you today. Hear he has family on Chorus. The wrong side, obviously, but I’m still all for it. Maybe he’ll get your nose, you creepy bastard.”

“That’s rude, Martha,” Charlie says, and Father’s jaw drops.

“You—”

“Surprise, hobbit boy!” Martha grins, and then she tips Father’s chair. “She can see me! Best birthday present _ever_.”

“Your birthday is in December,” Locus mutters.

“Not the point!” Martha is positively gleeful. “The point is, I can finally talk to someone other than my own killer! ”

Charlie leans back. “Aunt Jackie said you detonated the Armonia nuclear core.”

“I did,” Martha nods. “Still his fault. And I’m haunting him, so clearly the universe is backing me up here.”

Charlie frowns. “Then why were you with me?”

“I follow you around sometimes,” Martha says. “Apparently, my haunting extends to you. Used to keep an eye on you when this asshole would go do other things.”

“Do you never call him his name?” Charlie asks.

Martha frowns, like that had honestly never occurred to her. “Why would I call this foliage fucking—”

“ _General_ ,” Locus growls.

Martha rolls her eyes. “We’re pretty sure I’m a part of his punishment,” she confides to Charlie in a stage-whisper. “Some sort of eternal damnation thing.”

Charlie frowns, realizing something for the first time. “If you’re always here, why doesn’t Uncle Wash know about you?”

Martha’s face darkens, and she looks so much like Uncle Wash on his worst days that Charlie jumps a little in surprise. “That’s an excellent question, asshole,” she hisses, and Charlie feels like she’s walked into a minefield.

Father’s jaw clenches. “I have not informed Agent Washington about the General’s presence.”

Charlie stares. “But…” But she’s _always_ been there. Charlie remembers her on the ship, remembers hearing her father talk to someone her whole life.

She’s been there the whole time and Father hasn’t said anything.

“What do you say kid?” Martha grins at her, but it looks brittle. “Want to help me talk to my family? Do your old Aunt a favor?”

Charlie gets to her feet without hesitation. Martha walks through the dividing screen, and Charlie stares as her form shimmers, covering her in armor. .

“Charlie,” her father says. Charlie doesn’t know what to think. Why would her father deny them this?

“Let’s go,” she says to Martha, and leaves her father behind with some very bewildered guards.

* * *

“I have a sword,” Charlie says to Wash.

Wash frowns. “Oh?”

“An alien sword,” Charlie says. “And when I picked it up… something happened.”

Wash lowers the dish he’s washing. “Is something wrong?”

“I saw a ghost,” Charlie says. “She says her name is Martha, and that you’re her brother.”

Wash drops the plate.

“Uncle Wash!” Charlie rushes forward. “You’re bleeding!”

“I’m fine,” Wash says automatically. “What was that about Martha?”

Charlie frowns. “She says you’re still not looking after yourself.”

Wash flinches. “Charlie—”

“She’s here,” Charlie says. “She’s wearing a gold shirt. She has brown eyes and brown hair. She looks like you when she frowns. She calls Father really rude things. She says you took her to a clearing in a woods when she’d get into fights. She says you gave them hell.”

Wash reels back. He scans the room, desperate for some indication. But no one’s there. It’s just him and Charlie.

“She’s trying to touch your arm.”

“Martha,” he whispers. “Martha, I am—I’m so…” he trails off as a handful of china shards lift into the air.

“She says it’s not your fault. She made her choice. And she doesn’t regret it, even if it means she ended up…” Charlie trails off, making a face. “Haunting Father.”

“Do I want to know what she called him?”

“It was very rude.”

Wash sits back on his heels, still clutching his hand, and he starts to laugh.

For a second, he thinks he sees Martha, sitting on the counter. She looks like she did the day he left for the army, her smile wide and carefree. But her eyes are the eyes he remembers for Chorus, dark brown and haunted, and surrounded by lines. They’re out of place in a face that young.

Then he blinks, and she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me over on [tumblr](http://www.secretlystephaniebrown.tumblr.com) for more Donut Sibs and other nonsense.


	3. call my name or walk on by (amnesia verse part i)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Epsilon, Wash does not remember. Wash forgets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to the amazing enabler sroloc_elbisivni! Hope you have a great day, let’s see how you like the first chunk of the Amnesia!Verse. 
> 
> Nina and I have been throwing around a universe in the Donut Sibs where Epsilon erases Wash’s memories instead of giving him his own, and let’s just say I had fun with this one. There’s a load more in this universe that I haven’t written yet, but this is what I have so far! 
> 
> Warnings for: kidnapping, memory issues, lots of implied trauma, misunderstandings up the wazoo.

They lose David in a ship crash. They bury him. They mourn. Frank joins the army.

And then they get him back.

“He doesn’t remember anything that happened to him, I’m afraid,” the doctor says to them sympathetically. “The last few years are just gone. Doesn’t even remember the crash.”

Jackie’s brow furrows. “That’s a large chunk of memory,” she says. “What else is—”

“ _Later_ ,” Martha says insistently, dragging Jackie away from the doctor. “Can we see him?”

“Of course,” the man’s smile is kind. Martha has never seen a badge like his. It looks like a peace sign, she thinks. She wonders if it’s a medical thing. He presses a button, and the door lets out a buzzing noise as it unlocks, letting them in.

“David!” Mom gets there first, but the rest of them are close behind her, crowding around their brother as best they can manage.

“Mom?” David looks _awful_. Scars and bruises and scrapes and bandages cover every inch of him not covered by the hospital gown.

“Welcome back from the dead,” Martha declares, flopping down into the chair next to him.

“They say I’m out of the army,” he says, grinning at them faintly.

“Oh yeah,” Mitch says, sitting next to him on the bed. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“We’re working on getting you discharged,” Dad says cheerfully, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling wider than any of them have seen in years. “We’ll get you set up at the farm. Mitch is living there all on her lonesome these days, so there’s plenty of room, at least until you get yourself sorted.”

When the others clear out, Jackie looks at him. “You really don’t remember anything?”

David shakes his head. “It’s… it’s weird. I know they say I was stranded on a planet but… but that feels _wrong_ , Jackie.” He pauses again, frowning. “Where’s Ellie?”

“Oh!” Jackie blinks. “You don’t remember? _Frank_ ,” she says the name carefully. “Is in the army. We’ll see if he can apply for leave, so he can come see you. It’d be nice for us all to be together again.” She squeezes his hand. David nods.

David settles in the farm fairly well. He wakes up screaming a lot, but they manage. It’s slow living. Calming. Soothing.

If it weren’t the nagging itch that he’s _missing something_ , David would be content, he thinks.

Until a woman in silver armor shows up on their doorstep, asking for a “Wash”.

* * *

 Mitch stares at the woman on her porch.

“Look, I know he’s here,” the woman says. She’s in armor and armed, and Mitch _wishes_ she had her knives or _something_ , because everything about this woman is putting her on edge. “I need to talk to him.”

“There’s no one named Wash here,” Mitch says. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

“ _Washington_. I know he’s here. He’s in _danger_.”

Mitch grits her teeth. “Look, he’s not here. I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about, but please leave my property, or I’ll be forced to call the police.”

The woman makes a scoffing noise that shows her opinion of that. “I’m not here to hurt him,” the woman says, trying to sound soothing but failing miserably. “I’m here to help.”

“There’s no one by that name here,” Mitch reiterates, wishing she had Jackie’s power to summon the geese at will. She’s not sure how much good they’d do against someone in armor, but it’d be worth a try, surely.

“Wash!” The woman’s helmet jerks up, and she looks over Mitch’s shoulder, where David is just come downstairs, still dressed in his pajamas and looking like a mess.

Mitch’s gut begins to sink. Something is wrong here. Something is _very_ wrong.

David blinks at the woman slowly, and Mitch is relieved to see that there’s no recognition on his face. “Who?”

“Wash, we need to get out of here,” the woman says, taking a step forward, which makes Mitch take her eyes off David to focus on her again. “The Meta, he’s found you, we don’t have time—”

“David, do you know this woman?” Mitch demands, blocking her entrance into the house as best she can. She’s taller than the armored woman, but it doesn’t make her feel better, not when she can see a pistol at her side.

“Wash, it’s me, Niner!” The woman says, reaching out with her hand, trying to get around Mitch. “We need to get you out of here!”

“My name’s _David_ ,” he says, but there’s something off about the way he’s speaking. Mitch can’t see his face. “I don’t know who you are.”

The woman freezes. “Wash?”

“He doesn’t know you,” Mitch snaps. “Get out of my house!” She slams the door with all her might, and ignores the hammering on the door that lasts for five minutes.

When it finally stops, Mitch pours herself a cup of tea with shaking hands and makes David eat something. “You didn’t know her, right?”

“No,” David says. “Or at least. I don’t remember her.”

“You were stranded on a deserted planet,” Mitch points out, but there was a niggling sensation in the back of her mind that she didn’t like. “There was no one with you. You were alone.”

“That’s what they said,” David agrees, but he looks troubled.

“Should we call Jackie?” Mitch wonders, checking out the window.

“I’ve got an appointment tomorrow,” David says. “I’ll talk about it with Jackie when she comes over for dinner tonight.”

“Right,” Mitch says, making a face. She’s pretty terrible at cooking, and David isn’t better. Between the two of them, they’re capable of approximately six dishes, counting ramen.

Mitch hugs her brother and goes back to her work on the farm.

Sometime between hoeing the peas and feeding the chickens, the mysterious “Niner” comes back, breaks down the door to the house, and kidnaps David.

* * *

In hindsight, this might not have been Niner’s best plan.

Wash had _fought her_. She’d had to knock him unconscious in order to get him out of the house and away from that woman who was blocking her access to him.

Right now, he’s handcuffed in the back to stop him from doing anything stupid. Like fighting her. Or jumping out of the plane.

She checks the camera to look at him. He’s still out cold and looks like shit.

Niner sighs. She knew that the AI had fucked up Wash’s memories, but she hadn’t realized it was _this bad_. He hadn’t known her. Hadn’t reacted to her telling him the Meta was coming for him.

She checked her radar again, making sure there wasn’t anything approaching them. No sign. The Meta wasn’t close, at least.

Suddenly, Wash jerks awake, groaning loudly. Niner sets the autopilot, and heads back.

“You’re awake,” she notes. He flinches back from her, yanking on the handcuffs. He’s strapped in as well as cuffed. He’s not going anywhere.

“You kidnapped me!”

“It was for your own good,” Niner says. “Look, I’ll be able to give you the files when we get back to headquarters. Prove I’m telling the truth. You’re in danger. A _lot_ of danger. And that woman you were with? The person coming after you wouldn’t care about hurting her to get to you.”

“Why would anyone care about me?” Wash demands, his eyes narrow. He doesn’t believe her. “I’m just a marine.”

“You seriously have no idea,” Niner groans. “They _lied_ , Wash.”

“Don’t call me that,” he says. “My name’s David. David—” Whatever he was going to say next was drowned out by the sound of something hitting the roof of the ship.

“Fuck!” Niner goes for her gun. “He found us!”

“Who?” Wash yells.

“The Meta!” She reaches over and releases the lock on his handcuffs. “Get ready to fight!”

He stumbles back, away from her, clearly intending to go for the cockpit. Niner wants to scream. Why do these fucking Freelancers always insist on making her life complicated?

The door flies open, which makes Niner _very_ glad they’re not in space yet. She’s in armor, so she stays upright, but Wash goes flying, slamming against the wall and slumping to the floor.

Niner raises her gun, but freezes as she recognizes the greenish-blue armor.

“Carolina?”

“Niner,” her old friend growls, taking a step forward. The door slams shut behind her, stabilizing the pelican somewhat. “What are you _doing_?”

“Who are you people?” Wash demands, pushing himself off the floor.

Carolina pauses. “You don’t know who I am.” It’s not a question.

“No!” Wash yells, looking between the two of them, a look of growing dread on his face. He’s realized that this isn’t a savior. He’s not being rescued. “Please, I don’t know anything, and my family’s going to be worried. I just want to go home.”

“If you leave, you die,” Niner snaps, and Wash flinches, taking a step away from her, moving towards Carolina. She realizes that she probably could have phrased that in a much-less threatening manner. Oops.

“If Wash wasn’t on the Meta’s radar before, he certainly is now,” Carolina seethes. “What were you _thinking_?”

“I was _thinking_ I didn’t want him to die like you!” Niner snaps. “And speaking of which, I think there’s a big fucking elephant in the room!”

“What, you kidnapping me?” Wash yells.

“No!” Carolina and Niner say in unison.

“The Meta was heading to Earth,” Niner tells Carolina. “And Command was concerned that Washington was a target. I was told to bring him back.”

“My name is not Washington!” Wash says, throwing his hands up in the air. He turns to Carolina. “Look, she’s crazy. She showed up at my house and kidnapped me!”

Carolina gives him a look. “You really don’t remember,” she says, quietly.

“Remember what?” Wash demands. “Being spaced?”

“He doesn’t,” Niner says. “I doubt he’d pretend for this long.”

Wash groans, and sits down. “Mitch is going to go ballistic,” he mutters.

* * *

When the police tell Mitch there’s not much they can do, it doesn’t take Mitch long to come to a decision.

She calls up the neighbors, asking them to keep an eye on the farm and feed her animals until her parents get back from their vacation.

She then goes to Martha’s apartment and Jackie’s apartment to tell them to pack their bags.

They then proceed to call up Nadia the town baker, whose nephew’s cousin’s husband is an important guy in the military and who knows a pilot who can take them into a war zone, and arrange for a ride to the one place where they know they can get help.

Blood Gulch Canyon.

* * *

Of all the things Donut expected when the ship landed in Blood Gulch, his sisters weren’t one of them.

“Mitch! Martha! Jackie!” He grinned, while his sisters grinned at him. But something was very wrong—they all looked worried.

Then it hit him. “Where’s David?”

“Some crazy lady in silver armor kidnapped him,” Mitch says. “We’re going after him. Thought you might want to come with.”

“Was it a blue?” Sarge asks. “It would be just like those no-good dirtbags to go behind a man’s back and kidnap his family!”

Donut watches Jackie blink slowly.

Mitch looks thoughtful. “Her visor was blue,” she offers.

Martha gives Mitch a _look_. “You saw her for like thirty seconds, how do you remember that?”

Mitch looks distinctly uncomfortable. “I—it doesn’t matter. What _matters_ is that David’s been kidnapped, and we’re getting him back!”

“Now hold on there, little missy!” Sarge takes a step forward. “Are you telling me you intend to take one of my men on some sort of rescue mission?”

Mitch’s eyes narrow dangerously as she examines Sarge. She doesn’t appear to even take notice of the large shotgun he’s carrying. “Yes.”

Grif and Simmons take a step back, as do Martha and Jackie. Donut stays where he is.

“Well I’m afraid I can’t allow that! Sending one man off alone! Against a potential entire _conspiracy of blues?_ Unthinkable! Unimaginable! _Inconceivable_!” He pauses. “Grif! Simmons! Lopez! Get your things ready! We’re going on a rescue mission!”

Martha blinks. “Really?”

“We can’t leave a man behind!” Sarge says, hitting his fist against his chestplate. “Especially not in the hands of a _blue_!”

Jackie opens her mouth, about to ask a question. Martha kicks her. “Psychoanalyze the nice but crazy sergeant later, rescue David now,” Martha says.

Jackie nods, slightly abashed. “Right.”

“Well,” Grif says with a sigh. “At least we get out of this fucking canyon.

* * *

“Mitch,” Martha says, looking around. “I hate to be that asshole—”

Simmons and Grif snort. “That’s a fucking lie,” Grif says.

“No kidding,” Simmons agrees.

“—but I think we forgot Jackie.”

Mitch froze.

“ _What_?”

“She’s not on the ship. I think we left her at the last port, when we loaded in a hurry because of that sighting.”

“We took a headcount!” Mitch shoots to her feet.

“Grif took it,” Martha says, as if that explains everything.

It kind of does.

Simmons and Donut carefully scoot as far away from Grif as they can manage, as Mitch slowly turns towards Grif.

“Hey!” Grif protests. “She’s short, okay? I figured she was behind somebody! How am I supposed to know if she’s here?”

“Easy,” Martha drawls. “You just say ‘golly gee, I do like spending time with my totally platonic friend Simmons!’ and listen for the sound of note-taking.”

Simmons splutters. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Shut up!” Mitch says. “We now have to go back to get Jackie, hope she hasn’t been murdered by whatever creeps are wandering around the last port, _find_ Jackie, and then desperately try to regain all the ground we lost on the wackos who kidnapped David!”

“And kill the dirty blues!” Sarge adds.

“Right,” Mitch says. Ever since they managed to get their hands on security footage of their mysterious kidnapper’s friend—wearing bright teal armor that’s apparently a color that the enemy wears—Sarge has been over the moon at the prospect of killing David’s kidnappers. Mitch isn’t quite sure what to make of all this, or the weird, color-based war they all seem to be very wrapped up in. She can’t make heads or tails of it. She thinks Jackie might have an idea, but she’s not sharing yet.

“C’mon,” Grif says. “It’s Jackie. She’s tiny, wears a blazer, and likes helping strangers with their problems. What kind of trouble could she get into in a port city on one of the shittiest planets in the galaxy?”

Mitch groans.

“You clearly don’t know Jackie very well,” Martha says.

* * *

“Hey guys!” Jackie says when they dock. She has a black eye and a wide smile. “Glad you made it. This is South and this is North. They’re going to be joining us on the rescue mission. Guys, this is my sister Mitch. The others are still inside.”

“Nice to meet you,” North says, nodding at her. Mitch tries not to stare at the sniper rifle on his back.

“Huh,” South says, squinting at Mitch. “Thought you’d be shorter.”

Mitch looks at the height difference between South and North. “Really?” She asks, keeping her tone as mild as possible.

“Shut up,” South says.

Shadow bounds up towards them, tail wagging.

There’s an explosion of fireworks over North’s shoulder. “A dog!” A small, glowing figure gasps.

“What have you done, Jackie?” Mitch asks.

Jackie just smiles.

“Great,” Martha says, looking from around Mitch to see their newest recruits and her dog, who seems to be happily sniffing the hologram. “Welcome aboard, we’re hunting a teal asshole and a silver bitch who my sister thinks has a sexy voice. Let’s go.”

* * *

Being kidnapped, David decides pretty quickly, is terrible.

They’re in the middle of space, which makes escaping difficult, although he makes a valiant effort every time they have to stop for fuel. He’s also tried fighting the woman in teal armor, which resulted in him getting kicked halfway across the pelican.

She doesn’t like him all that much, it seems.

Niner and Carolina fight a lot. Mostly about where to take him. Niner wants to take him to Command, wherever that is, while Carolina insists that doing that would possibly cause the apocalypse or something. David doesn’t know. They’ve brawled at least three times over it, and after David tried to sneak into the cockpit to steer the ship back to Earth after the first time, he’s handcuffed more often than not.

Niner still insists on calling him Wash.

Carolina does her best not to speak to him at all.

“They’re _following_ us!” Carolina yells, slamming the door shut behind her as the two of them run into the pelican. “How are they following us?”

“I don’t know!” Niner snaps. “If I did know, do you think I’d let them?” She sits in the pilot’s seat and starts taking off. David feels his gut sink, knowing another escape chance is gone.

At least he doesn’t have Stockholm Syndrome, he comforts himself. It could be worse.

David doesn’t even know who’s following them. He wonders if it’s the ‘Meta’ they’re so worried about, that they’re supposedly protecting him from. Absently, he twists in the cuffs, trying to see if he can slip them. Maybe the ‘Meta’ is a good guy or something. He has to be better than these two anyways.

It’s been weeks since he was kidnapped. He’s not sure if he’s seeing a way out of this.

He hopes Mitch doesn’t blame herself for this.

Suddenly there was an explosion of alarms and claxons, and David flinches from the loud noise, feeling a headache beginning to build already.  

“Fuck,” he hears Niner say. “We just received an SOS transmission.”

“We can’t stop,” Carolina says. “We _have_ to get him to safety.”

“No,” Niner says flatly. “You see that signature?”

There was a clatter of armor. “Is that--”

“Yes. I’m going. And since this is my ship, unless you want me to drop you off, you’re coming too.”

Carolina groans. “Fine. We’ll save your brother.”

“That,” Niner’s voice is ice, “Was never up for debate.”

“Stay in the ship,” Niner says to him, when they finally get to wherever it was that the signal was coming from.

He makes the handcuffs rattle to prove a point. “Don’t have much of a choice here,” he says dryly. He’s still not sure what their endgame is here. It doesn’t make _sense_.

Carolina doesn’t even look at him as she strides out of the pelican, determination radiating from her. David catches a glimpse of desert outside, as well as a few other ships.

Five minutes later, a man in red armor breaks down the door, and his sisters charge in.

“David!” Mitch gets there first, looking incredibly relieved.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“Answering a distress beacon,” Mitch says. “Friend of Frank’s was in trouble. Then we recognized this ship.”

“Frank?” His eyes scan the bright, red themed soldiers, and his eyes settle on a pink one.

“David!” The pink man waves.

“Where did the woman go?” Mitch demands, her eyes hard.

“Niner?” Wash blinks, rubbing his wrists as the cuffs come off. “She went to go answer the beacon.”

Mitch’s eyes flash. “ _Good_ ,” she says.

“Mitch has a nemesis now,” Martha tells him, helping him up. “It’s great.”

* * *

“Quiet!” Mitch yells. “ _You_ ,” she points at Niner, “Kidnapped my fucking brother, and _you_ ,” her finger moves to Carolina. “Helped her. And _you_ ,” she turns to Tex and pauses. “Actually, I have no idea who you are and I don’t have a problem with you.”

“Even though she’s the one who blew off Donut’s face?” Grif asks.

“Dude,” the one called Tucker says, as Mitch’s expression somehow becomes even more murderous. “Why?”

“What?” Mitch screeches, her ire at Niner and Carolina forgotten as she whips her full attention towards Tex, who seems bemused at best.

Given from what David has seen of Tex so far, he’s not sure he really blames her.

The one named York groans and buries his face in his hands. “I was really hoping this would be easy,” he says.

Carolina and Tex have started fighting, completely ignoring Mitch, so Mitch has turned her attention back to Niner. Mitch seems ridiculously out of place, among the other three, armed and wearing armor.

“We don’t have time for this,” Texas finally says. “We need to get out of here—too many of us in one place is going to draw the Meta’s attention. She grabs David’s shoulder. “Even him, I guess.”

That’s when Mitch throws a knife at Tex’s arm. “Leave him _alone_!” Mitch spits.

Texas stares at the knife now imbedded in her arm. “Huh. Guess she _is_ related to Wash.”

“He’s not going anywhere with you,” Jackie steps forward. “Any of you!” She adds, looking at Niner and Carolina.

The really tall purple one grabs her and hauls her back. “Jackie, I think you should stay out of this,” he says.

“Like hell!” Jackie snaps. “They’re trying to kidnap my brother!” The tall one responds to that to actually picking Jackie up, so her legs dangle in the air. “Put me _down_ , North!” Jackie snaps.

“You aren’t going to fight Tex,” he says. “Jackie, please don’t make this worse than it already is.”

Mitch and Niner are currently being held apart by Carolina, David notices, as he tries to sidle behind the one they call Caboose. It seems to be the safest place right about now.

“Everybody _stop_!” Martha snaps, clearly out of patience.

Silence falls. David thinks the Freelancers are in shock more than any actual inclination to obedience.

“Put Jackie down, North. Apparently my rational sisters are being stupid, so I’m going to be the adult right now. We’re going to talk this out like fucking grownups.” Martha points at Carolina. “Anyone else likely to show up and interrupt?”

Carolina stares at her. “No?”

“Great. Now. Let’s recap. You guys,” her gesture encompasses all of the Freelancers. “Are some sort of super soldiers, but you’re on the run for whatever reason, and there’s a bad guy named the Meta who’s trying to kill all of you. And _you_ ,” Martha points at Niner. “Decided that meant David was in danger, and so the obvious solution was kidnapping. Because David, according to you lot, is a member of your squad. Which he _magically_ doesn’t remember.”

“Epsilon—” Carolina began to speak.

“Shush,” Martha snaps. “Still being an adult here.”

Carolina, much to people’s visible surprise, stops speaking.

“So, David, or Washington or whatever it is you people think his name is, doesn’t remember a thing, doesn’t have any of your guys’ fancy technology and armor, has absolutely no useful information, and his record is so classified that no one can even prove he actually was this guy who you all say he is.”

There was a long silence. “That’s right,” Niner finally says.

“So basically, what you’re saying is that David would have been _completely fine_ , if you lot hadn’t barged into our fucking lives!” Martha says, throwing her hands into the air. “But now he’s been seen with you, _and_ all of you in one location is probably drawing this guy out, and so now he’s _really_ in danger?”

The silence was now awkward.

“Well—” the one named York began to say.

“You, shut up, I don’t care about you.”

The shorter purple one let out a laugh. “Yeah, _York_.”

“You shut up too, I can’t help but notice that you two clearly know these people, yet didn’t say anything in the weeks while we were chasing them.”

The twins suddenly are the ones looking awkward.

“It wasn’t like you gave us a name!” The short one protests. “Bitch in silver armor with a teal friend, that’s what you said!”

Martha pauses, thoughtful. “Fair,” she concedes. She then turns her attention back to Niner, “Speaking of, take off your fucking helmet so I can deck you.”

“The Meta was closing in on Wash’s location!” Niner protests. “I had reports—”

“Ooh, that’s right,” Texas turns towards Niner, radiating hostility. “Because you’re _Command_.”

Carolina steps forward. “Don’t, Texas.”

“What’s the matter, Carolina? You still working for them too?” Texas says. “Can’t believe you fucking let us all think you were dead, you—”

“Holy shit you guys have more issues than a box of moldy skittles,” Martha says.

Everyone turns to her, more out of confusion than anything else.

“How do skittles get moldy?” York is the one to ask.

“That’s one of the issues,” Martha says. “Anyways. Not to interrupt this lovely reunion, but we’re going to be taking our brother and leaving now, and hopefully all of you guys can take care of your big bad in peace and we can all move on with our lives and pretend we never saw you.”

“You can’t just leave!” Wash isn’t quite sure who said it.

“Why the fuck not?” Martha demands. “I’ve got orders piling up back home, Mitch is missing harvest season, and although I’m sure Jackie will miss playing doctor with the twins—”

“ _Martha_!” Jackie yells.

“I’m sure she’ll write a few papers and move on. She’s good at that. Mental health is her thing. Besides,” Martha points out. “It’s not like any of you guys think that David was that good of a Freelancer anyways.”

They all freeze up at that. “What?” David asks.

“Ah, c’mon, it’s obvious. None of them thought you could handle it on your own.” Martha shrugs. “Doesn’t matter though, since you’re _not_ a Freelancer.”

“Is your whole family good at denial?” Texas asks. “I was thinking it was a Donut-specific trait.”

“Who’s Donut?” York asks.

“The one in pink.”

Donut gasps. “It’s _lightish-red_!”

There is yet another silence at this. “Alright,” Mitch says. “C’mon guys. Martha, call Shadow back, and let’s skedaddle.”

Martha lets out a piercing whistle that could shatter eardrums and be heard over the heaviest of power tools.

Shadow bounds out of the alien temple, something round in her mouth, which she proudly deposits at Martha’s feet, tail wagging.

“That’s alien tech,” Carolina says, staring at the mechanical sphere, which looks like it has a giant eye in the center of it. “Why does the dog have alien technology?”

“Why is there a _dog_?” Niner yelps.

“Because we had to leave in a hurry, and I couldn’t get a sitter,” Martha says calmly, petting Shadow. “Speaking of which, Shadow, attack the assholes!”

Shadow looks around in confusion, before suddenly stiffening and letting out a deep, thundering growl that Wash usually associates with Shadow seeing someone she _really_ dislikes. Like the mailman.

“There they are!”

“Fuck, it’s those guys again!” Tucker yells.

“Who?”

“CT and his fucking crew of assholes!”

David flinches at the name. So do the other Freelancers.

There have been a lot of silences since David was rescued. This is the first one that feels _dangerous_.

“CT?” The short, still unnamed purple one says.

“South,” Carolina says, but North shakes his head at her.

“Impossible,” Texas says, blankly. “I killed her.”

“Way to fucking bring that up, you fucking _bitch_ ,” South looks like she’s a second away from attacking Texas before Tucker cuts them off.

“Well, you fucking suck at it then! This guy’s been trying to kill me and Caboose and Junior for ages now—why the fuck did you guys think we sent the signal out anyways? For a slumber party?”

“Shut up, Tucker!” The blue one snaps, and something about his voice makes David flinch again. “We were kind of busy here!”

“Oh, stop pretending it was about any of us,” Tucker laughs. “The hot chicks had issues to duke out, and I dig that! But while they were lost in their sexual tension, apparently they decided to ambush us, which is why we should be _running,_ instead of _talking_!”

“Oh no,” Carolina says. “We’re not running.” All at once, the Freelancers seemed to move in unison. “We’re going to get some _answers_.”

Mitch grabs David’s arm. “Well _we are_!”

“C’mon!” Tucker yells. “We can go to the temple!”

“Lead the way!” Martha yells.

“Baby, I’ll lead you anywhere— _ouch_!” Martha had, apparently, decided it was worth it to punch a man in full armor. “Hurts so good,” Tucker adds, apparently unable to resist. “I mean, if you’re into that, I’m up for it. If you know what I mean, bow-chicka-bow- _ow_!”

“You’re going to break your hand doing that,” David says.

“Worth it,” Martha says.

“Worth it,” Tucker echoes.

They slam the doors to the temple shut, and listen as the sounds of fighting ring freely in the background.

Mitch walks up to him. “You’re okay, right?” She asks him.

“Fine, Mitch,” he says. “I just… I have a headache.” His skull feels like it’s been crushed in a vice. Someone is yelling, in his memories, but he doesn’t know who and he can’t hear what they’re saying, and trying to listen just makes it all hurt worse.

Mitch looks at him. “You’re… you’re _not_ one of them, right?” She asks. “You wouldn’t just have let us think you were dead to run around with fancy power armor, would you?”

“Of course not,” David says, but the words feel wrong as they roll off his tongue, and his name feels wrong in his head and every inch of his body is screaming at him that he shouldn’t be in here hiding with his family and the Reds and Blues, he should be out there, with the Freelancers, _fighting_.

But he _isn’t_ a Freelancer. Because he’d remember. Obviously.

 _Like you remember being stranded on a deserted planet for years?_ The voice in his head sounds a lot like Jackie.

David doesn’t like it.

* * *

After they finish destroying CT and his forces, they all end up on a ship together. Niner’s a bit fuzzy on the details. She’s pretty sure Tex’s old AI and a rocket launcher were involved though.

She takes off her helmet, shaking out her hair as she rubs the sweat off her forehead.

There’s a loud noise. Niner reaches for her gun, only stopping when she sees that Mitch apparently has dropped the spare parts she was carrying to the engine room.

Mitch looks flushed, and Niner looks away, trying not to notice how pretty Mitch’s eyes are. Or how pretty Mitch is _period_.

“You just going to stand there and watch?” Mitch snaps. “Or are you going to help me pick these things up?”

Niner’s spine straightened at the reminder. This isn’t some cute civilian. This is the whole reason the whole operation is in _shambles_. Simulation Troopers and Civilians in the midst of a Freelancer operation, including her own _brother_ , which means that Niner has to fight tooth and nail to stop the others from arguing for leaving them to their (probably Meta-induced) deaths. Not that anyone seems particularly keen on bringing it up, probably since Wash seems pretty firmly set on including himself in that part of the ship’s population.

And, apparently, so is the Alpha. The fucking _Alpha_.

Niner hates Freelancer bullshit with every bone in her body. Some days she really wishes she’d never even heard of the fucking program.

“Sorry,” she says, refocusing on Mitch’s words. “Didn’t realize a civilian can’t even clean up their own messes.”

“That’s Freelancer’s specialty, I thought,” Mitch says sweetly.

“You don’t know anything about Freelancer,” Niner snaps.

“I think I know enough,” Mitch says, turning to walk away. “You guys think of Frank and his friends as cannon fodder. What else do I need to know?”

* * *

“They’re at it _again,_ ” York sighs, putting his cards down flat on the table.

“They’re always at it,” Grif says, grinning as he reaches into the center to grab the pot. “They’ll calm down soon.”

“With this much sexual tension? No way,” Tucker says. “The only way those two are calming down if they’re _going down_.”

“Don’t talk about my sister like that,” Wash says sharply.

“Jeeze, dude, lighten up. Even you can see that Niner wants to climb your sister like a tree.”

“You weren’t there for the rescue mission,” Martha says, switching to English from her conversation with Lopez. “There was _so much emphasis_ on the sexy voice.”

“Niner was very insistent on describing Mitch’s physical features too,” Carolina says, looking over York’s shoulder at his cards.

“It’s inevitable, Wash,” Tucker says. “Sorry dude.”

“My kidnapper who still thinks I’m one of her Freelancers and my sister,” Wash says with a sigh. “Wonderful.”

“Half of this ship thinks you’re one of the Freelancers, Wash,” York points out.

“Mass hallucination,” Wash says flatly.

“The denial is cute,” Texas says. She’s been banned from poker night after breaking the table three times and brawling with Carolina twice, which is also how Carolina got banned.

“It’s not denial,” Wash says firmly. “It’s the _truth_.”

“Then why are you going by Wash these days?” Texas asks, raising an eyebrow.

Wash stares at her for a long time. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t remember anything. I’m not who you people want me to be, even if I was.”

“We’ll see about that,” Carolina says, hooking her chin over the top of York’s head.

* * *

“We can’t stop there!” Mitch snaps, glancing over Niner’s shoulder at the map.

“We need supplies!”

“South has an outstanding warrant there, we’d be made within seconds!”

“So then South stays on the ship!” Niner threw her hands up on the air, desperately trying not to notice just how close Mitch was standing, or how the light made her hair shine. “We need those supplies, and this is the only port we can afford!”

“We don’t always have to go to big port cities,” Mitch argues, taking another step forward. Niner refuses to move backwards. She’s not going to be intimidated by a farmer. No matter how cute she is.

“The smaller the port, the more likely we are to be recognized,” Niner snaps, trying to straighten up as best she can, but she’s not wearing her armor, so she’s still significantly shorter than Mitch. “We’re still running from Freelancer, remember? On top of the rest of this bullshit?”

Suddenly, the ship gives a huge jerk, sending them both slamming against the table. Niner yells, and throws up her hands, even as the edge of the table digs into her back with enough force to bruise. She catches Mitch, preventing Mitch from fully crushing her, although their legs are tangled together now.

They stare at each other for a moment, before Niner lets her arms fall, and Mitch slumps forward before catching herself. She gives Niner a thoughtful look, and then yanks Niner up by the collar of her shirt, forcing her upright and then pulling her into a kiss.

For a moment, Niner’s entire brain goes completely blank. When she regains control of her higher brain functions, they’re pulling apart, and the thoughtful look in Mitch’s eyes are replaced with panic.

Mitch shoves her away, and Niner stumbles backwards, her entire mind a cacophony of _oh god did I really just do that_.

“I—” Mitch looks around, confused.

“That didn’t happen,” Niner blurts.

“Right,” Mitch says, nodding. Niner tries not to feel hurt at the relief in her eyes.

“Right,” Niner says, and then she books it to Carolina’s room, where her best friend will hopefully have a _lot_ of alcohol.


	4. A Light that Don’t Come Cheap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackie meets the twins. Fun times are had by all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had most of this one sitting in my drafts for ages, but I figured it was high time I actually put my word count where my mouth is and… actually show the au where Jackie meets the twins. 
> 
> **Warnings:** Stalking, violence, mourning, fake character death

It’s a risk, staying in one place for so long. It’s a risk to take off his armor and go into town to grab a bite to eat. It’s even more of a risk to go to the same place, once a day. Habits are dangerous. Patterns can be traced.

But he and South are  _tired_ , and they have enough money to stay in place for a while after the last job, and their armor needs repairs, and the diner is really the only place in town that has food that doesn’t taste terrible, so North finds himself drawn there over and over again.

He tries to mix up his times, and so he knows there are four servers, all of whom know him by sight now.

“Hey there,” the shortest of the servers greets him, but there’s something tight around her face. She’s nervous about something. North becomes very aware of the handgun tucked into his waistband. Theta begins humming in his mind, looking for exit strategies and potential cover.

She leads him to a table, his normal one, with his back to the wall, facing the door. North checks the kitchen as the doors swing open. No one unusual in there. He scans the rest of the diner. No weapons that he can see, and he recognizes all the customers.

Why is the server so nervous then?

He likes the servers here; they’re all pleasant. Jackie’s almost eighteen inches shorter than North, with long curly brown hair and a pair of brass rimmed glasses. She has bright blue eyes and a smile that’s usually warm and kind.

He watches her carefully, now that he’s settled. Whatever she’s scared about, he’s pretty sure it doesn’t have anything to do with him.

It’s towards closing time, and Jackie takes his order and gives him pie and coffee, and North watches as the rest of the customers start to leave.

North’s getting his wallet out when Jackie stops by the table early. She’s pale as a sheet now, and the smile is gone.

“Look,” she says, fiddling with her notebook. North sees that her hands are trembling slightly. “You were military right?”

North nods slowly, wondering where she’s going with this.

She bites her lip. “I hate to be a bother, but, um…” She glances over her shoulder, and North looks to see what she’s checking on.

There’s a man by the entrance, and his eyes are pretty firmly on Jackie.

“He bothering you?” North asks, quietly.

She nods slightly. “He’s been coming by the last few days when I wasn’t on shift, trying to figure out when I work and he’s been… rude,” she ends, tucking her hair behind her ear. “And I—I really would prefer not to be alone with him. I’ll buy you a coffee or something,” she adds, hastily. “Whatever you want, just. Could you stay until closing?”

South won’t be expecting him home for a while yet. North nods, easily, and keeps an eye on the guy by the door. He’d been planning to go to the bar after this, but he figures his liver will forgive him for this. “Coffee would be great,” he says, and she gives him a wide, grateful smile, and rushes into the kitchen.

When there’s five minutes left until closing, the door swings open and South stomps in. She pauses as she stares at North.

“What are you doing here?” She demands, stomping up to North.

North blinks. “I come here all the time,” he says, even though he’s never been here this late.

“I have your order right here, South,” Jackie says, emerging from the kitchen with a to-go cup of coffee and a styrofoam take out container with unknown contents. She blinks, looking at the two of them. “You two know each other?”

“I’m her brother,” North says, smiling.

“Oh!” Jackie says with a blink. There’s a tinkle of a bell as the man by the door stalks off. “I’ve never seen you two in here together before.”

“We need our space, sometimes,” South says flatly. Jackie nods, as if this is perfectly reasonable.

“Well, everything’s all washed up,” she says. “Uh, South, could you walk me to my car?”

South’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

“You think he’ll try to follow you?” North asks, leaning forward. South’s eyebrows snap up, her expression dangerous.

Jackie shrugs. “Maybe,” she says, glancing towards the door, looking for the man.

South and North look at each other, communicating silently. “We’ll walk you,” South says firmly. Jackie gives them both a wide smile, and goes to fetch her coat.

* * *

South and North go to the diner the next day without needing to talk about it. Jackie has morning shift, and she beams at them. The guy isn’t here, but she gives them free coffee anyways as a thank you.

Habits are dangerous, they both know this. But they both like the food and they both like the staff—not just Jackie, but the other three servers and even the fry cook knows them by now, and it’s… peaceful.

They leave for another job. They don’t mean to come back.

But Theta, apparently, has decided this town is a good place, and hijacks the GPS to take them back, and South yells at them both for half an hour. When she’s done, they get out of armor and go back to the diner.

“You’re back!” Jackie grins at them when they walk through the door. “Thought you two left town.”

“We’re back for a while,” North says, and South gives him a  _look_ , but she doesn’t disagree. She’s as fond of the place as he is.

Jackie grins. “Well then. I’ll go get some pie for you two to celebrate.”

“How’ve you been?” North asks, noting she’s figured out his and South’s favorite flavors as she sets the pie on the table.

She makes a face. “I had exams, so, exhausted is pretty much the only word for it.”

“You’re in school?” South asks, staring. Jackie doesn’t look  _that_ young.

Jackie laughs. “Grad school,” she assures them. “I’m studying to be a psychologist.”

North and South both freeze a little at that.

“What are you planning to do with that?” South asks, and it’s hostile, but Jackie doesn’t seem to pick up on it, or if she does, she’s too polite to say anything.

“Not sure yet,” Jackie says, shrugging. “I haven’t really declared a specialty yet. I’m taking bits of everything—general stuff, veteran’s therapy, children’s therapy, even took an AI psyche class last semester.” She pauses, and then lights up. “You two said you were military, right? Did you ever work with AI? I heard a lot of the ships have them nowadays.”

North and South lock eyes. For the first time in a while, North wonders if they’re about to walk into a trap.

“A little,” North says, because even FILSS hadn’t been their first AI. Theta squirms slightly in his mind, as if guilty. Theta  _likes_ Jackie. Maybe more than North realized.

Jackie grins. “ _Lucky_! My school can’t afford one,” she says with a sigh. “But we had videos of Cortana and some others. It’s all so  _fascinating_!” There’s a light in her eyes that North mostly associates with scientists.

“You planning on specializing there?” North asks casually.

Jackie snorts. “No way, that’s all military. Look at me,” she says, gesturing to her incredibly short self. “I would not fit in a suit of armor.”

“They make them pretty small,” South says, but her lip is twitching.

Jackie rolls her eyes. “I failed gym,” she confides. “And I hate guns. Not really a great choice for the military.”

North finally relaxes slightly. Across the table, South does the same. Jackie gets distracted by a ringing from the kitchen, and leaves them to their food.

The next few times, Jackie’s not on shift. The next time they see her, the place is so crowded all she can do is grin at them and assure them that no, the asshole stalker guy hasn’t been back. (South, who is responsible for the man’s concussion, grins proudly.)

“You know,” North says, when she pulls up a chair at their booth, grinning at the two of them. “There are non-combat roles in the military. Why wouldn’t you just go for those, if you really want to work with AI?”

Jackie’s expression twists, and North realizes that he’s said something _very_ wrong, to make Jackie look like that.

“My brothers are— _were_ ,” she corrects, “In the army. David’s dead. Frank’s still in. I couldn’t join, not after that.”

“Sorry to hear that,” North says, sincerely.  

“Frank’s in some weird program,” Jackie says, sighing. “His letters are pretty censored, but what he sends us is _strange_.”

“He as short as you?” South teases, and Jackie laughs.

“There’s a wide size range in my family,” she says, her blue eyes alive again. She reaches into her jacket and pulls out her wallet. “Here, look, there’s my big sister Mitch—it’s ridiculous how much taller she is.”

The picture in question has one man in a military uniform squished between three women, one of whom is clearly Jackie. All of them are heavily freckled, and the family resemblance fairly clear between them.

South freezes, and grabs the wallet. “Wait, who’s that?”

Jackie cranes her neck to see what South is looking at. North joins her.

South’s thumb is pressed against a picture of a much younger Jackie getting a piggy back ride from a young version of a very familiar face.

“That’s my brother David,” Jackie says.

“No,” South says lowly. “That’s _Wash_.”

Jackie stares at the two of them. “You knew David?”

It’s at that point that her earlier words sunk in.

“Wash is _dead_?” North says, and he can feel Theta do the AI equivalent of curling into a small ball in the corner.

Jackie looks sick. “His—his ship went down, there was a hull breech,” she says, and then she trails off as North and South look at each other.

“Should have taken him with us,” South says.

“He was in the hospital, South,” North says, but his stomach is revolting as he thinks back to the MOI. “He couldn’t have left.”

Jackie looks like she’s on the verge of crying. “You were on the ship with him?”

They nod. North wonders how he hadn’t seen it before—Jackie has the same bright blue eyes as Wash. The same ridiculous freckles, the same wide grin. It hurts like a punch to the stomach.

“I… I…” Jackie trails off. “Could you tell me more about it? Later,” she adds. “I need to get back to my shift.” She brushes away tears quickly. “David didn’t tell us much about where he was serving—he was terrible at writing letters or calling.”

The twins look at each other. “Sure,” North says.

“I get off shift in two hours,” Jackie says. “We can go to my place.”

North and South look at each other.

“This is a hell of a coincidence,” North says slowly. He hates to say it, but he _has_ to think logically.

“Think she’s a plant?” South asks, skeptical. She twists slightly in her chair, looking at Jackie.

“What are the odds that the waitress at a diner we frequent happens to be Wash’s sister?” North says. “I don’t like it either, but I’m trying to think critically here.”

“Well, we’re both armed, and she’s tiny,” South points out sensibly. “I think we can take her.”

“We could be heading right into a trap,” North points out.

“And like I said. We’re both armed, and if Freelancer had our scent by now, they’d have made their move.”

North sighs. “Alright. Let’s get out of here so we’re even more armed when we walk into the potential trap.”

“Awesome,” South says, baring her teeth in a grin.

They meet up with Jackie after her shift.

“Are you sure you want to go to your apartment?” South asks. “We barely know you.”

Jackie rolls her eyes at them. “If you guys wanted to hurt me, you could have just let the stalker guy do it,” she says, leading them up the stairs.

She unlocks the door—terrible security, North thinks disapprovingly, and lets them in.

They stare.

“That,” South says, “Is a fuckton of books.”

Jackie looks sheepish. “Sorry for the mess.”

There are books _everywhere_. Haphazardly strewn on the table, stacked neatly on the shelves, piled into precarious columns at convenient locations.

“I’m guessing you like to read,” North says as blandly as he can.

Jackie flushes. “Just a bit,” she says, sheepishly. “You guys want anything to drink? Coffee, alcohol?”

“Maybe later,” South says. “What do you want to know?”

Jackie sat down on the couch with a soft _thump_. “I… I guess I don’t know,” she says, pulling the tie out of her hair and letting it fall down. “I mean, it’s been so long. Four whole years.”

South and North both freeze.

The Mother of Invention only crashed less than two years ago.

“That can’t be right,” North says carefully. Theta is starting to run the calculations in his mind, looking for concealed weapons and hidden enemies, trying to find escape routes if things go wrong. “We saw Wash alive eighteen months back.”

“That’s not funny,” Jackie says sharply.

“Wash never said anything about a ship crash,” South says slowly. “Jackie, what exactly did they say happened?”

Jackie stares at them, her brow furrowed. North wonders if she’s about to throw them out. “There was a hole in the side of his ship. He got spaced. They couldn’t find the body.”

The twins looked at each other. “We were right over a planet,” South says. “They would have been able to find him easy.”

“I didn’t notice any hull damage when we left,” North adds.

“What are you saying?” Jackie leans forward. There’s something hard and cold about her eyes that North hasn’t seen before. He’s not sure what to think of it. Theta finally seems to be calming down.

“Someone’s been lying,” South says with a certainty that North only wishes he felt about their conclusions. “Wash is still alive.”

“Wash received mail though,” North feels compelled to point out. “Remember him talking about it?”

Jackie’s eyebrows snap up. “That… that can’t be right. We had a funeral for him. We all... we _all_ thought he was dead.”

South and North look at each other. “You don’t think…” South says, slowly.

“It’s not like it would be that much of a stretch,” North points out.

“What?” Jackie says, looking at the two of them.

“They might have faked it,” South says. “Faked his death, then faked the letters so he didn’t notice anything was up.”

Jackie stares at them. “What kind of program were you guys _in_?”

The twins look at each other again.

“Black ops,” North says, finally. “There was some… shady things. It was called Project Freelancer.”

“ _Was_?” Jackie asks.

“It’s mostly defunct now. Things went… south,” South grins slightly at her own joke.

“We know there were some experiments being run,” North offers. “Weird ones. Maybe this was a part of that?”

Jackie runs her hands through her hair, eyes suddenly going distant. “Enforced social isolation,” she mutters. “Cut him off from real sources of assistance, ensure that faked correspondence matches acceptable patterns, but don’t provide real emotional support or comfort. Possibly then taper it off to encourage feelings of anger and abandonment.”

“Jackie?” North asks, alarmed.

Jackie blinks, and she drops her hands. “Sorry,” she says. “I—I’m really tired.” She smiles wryly. “Just thinking out loud.”

“We’ll get out of your hair,” South says.

“It’s three AM,” Jackie says. “You guys aren’t going _anywhere_.” She stands up, and the vagueness is gone, replaced with an intense focus. “I’ve got a spare mattress under my bed; North you can sleep on that. South, you can have the couch.”

South opens her mouth, possibly to protest, but Jackie holds up a finger. “North will not fit on my couch,” she says severely. They all look at it. North really wouldn’t fit.

“Fine,” South huffs.

“I’ll get sheets,” Jackie says. “I have an eight AM tomorrow morning, so I’ll leave early. You guys can stay as late as you want, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to be able to talk more about this… Freelancer.”

“We’ll see,” North says, but he already knows they’ll be here when she gets back from school.

* * *

One night turned into a week, which turned into a month, which turned into “we need to go apartment hunting _now_ , because if you two kill each other I am not hiding the bodies.”

They learn things about Wash’s odd little sister. They learn that she can’t speak any human language before she has had her two cups of coffee. They learn that she will only sigh despairingly over blood stains but will yell at South over putting an empty carton of milk back in the fridge. They learn that she absolutely _cannot_ cook.

“How have you survived this long?” South says, staring at the pieces of overcooked pasta floating in the pot.

“I’m a student!” Jackie protests. “I live off ramen and take out!”

“That’s it, I’m taking over the kitchen,” South says, and she pushes Jackie out.

The two of them still have their mercenary gigs—they have to help pay the rent now, after all. But mostly, they just hang around, listening in on Freelancer channels to make sure no one’s noticed the fact that they’re still hanging around a university town.

One day, Jackie comes home early from classes to find them in the middle of an old argument.

“That _thing_ is responsible for all of that!”

“Don’t talk like that, South,” North warns. Theta stands between them, flinching away whenever South turns her attention to him.

“North,” Theta whispers.

“I’ll talk however the fuck I want! You’re not in charge here!”

“ _North_ ,” Theta says again, more urgently.

“South, for once in your life will you _listen_?”

“Stop it!” Jackie yells. They both freeze. “Oh good, I do have some of Mitch’s superpower.” She then points at Theta. “Who is this?”

“I’m Theta!” Theta says, deciding to roll with it. “Nice to meet you, Jackie!”

Jackie stares at Theta. She looks at the twins. “You have an AI,” she says dully. “Oh my god, you have an AI— _how much were you laughing at me when I asked you if you’d ever seen one_?” She pauses, and squints. “How have I never noticed you before now?” She asks Theta, ignoring the twins.

“I’m in North’s head!”

She looks between the two of them. “Direct implantation? I thought that was just rumors.” She pauses. “Wait. _Only_ North’s head?”

Theta nods.

“And suddenly, I have context,” Jackie says. She points at the couch. “Sit down, you two,” she has her psychologist voice on, and the two of them flinch. “We’re having therapy time.”

“You’re not qualified,” North points out.

“Stop being pedantic and talk about your feelings,” Jackie says, sing-song.

* * *

The two of them come back from a mission. It was a hard one; they’re exhausted and tired and they haven’t even managed to take their armor off yet when everything somehow gets even worse.

Of all the ways for North to go down, a sniper shot through the shoulder might be one of the most humiliating.

“North!” South and Jackie yell in unison, before the grenade comes through the window.

South reacts quickly, shoving Jackie forward towards North. Theta throws the shield up, protecting Jackie from the blast.

Jackie scrambles forward, trying to find the injury. “That—that is a lot of blood. Oh my god.” She’s ripped off her jacket and is pressing it against the wound. She’s pale and trembling and Theta is yelling, because things really aren’t looking good at all.

South is by the window, returning fire. “Fuck, it’s the Meta!” She yells, and North bites back a curse.

“We can’t—” He tries to sit up but then yells, and falls back.

“Stay still,” Jackie orders, but her voice is shaking, and North realizes that they’ve dragged a civilian into their Freelancer nonsense, and it’s going to get worse.

“Jackie, you need to get out of here,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I don’t think that’s an option!” Jackie yells over the sound of gunfire and explosions.

North is bleeding out on the floor of their apartment and Theta is panicking, trying to think of alternatives, _anything_.

“South!” North manages. She looks at him.

“I’m a little busy!” She shouts, but she’s listening, and that’s enough.

“You need to take Theta and Jackie and _run_ ,” he says. “He’s after Theta, he’ll think he’s with me, you three can get away.”

“Shut the fuck up!” South says. “I’m not leaving you!”

“I’m not going to let you die!” North yells. Theta is also yelling his protests, and Jackie’s getting paler and paler by the second. Her hands are covered in blood.

“Theta,” Jackie says, and her eyes are cold and clear and brilliant. The first time North saw her like that, it was worrying and terrifying. Now, it’s comforting. It means Jackie’s _thinking_. “Theta, is North broadcasting any signals?”

Theta pauses. “Yes! Should I stop it?”

“No!” Jackie says. “That’s got to be a signal to Recovery.” She grins. “David’s coming.”

* * *

Wash hasn’t been this close to the Meta in a long time. The area’s been evacuated, but someone’s obviously still here, and returning fire.

Wash’s priority is recovery, so he throws a grenade to distract the Meta, and then darts into the building, racing up the staircase.

The beacon’s North’s, but by all accounts he’s supposed to be with South, so she’s probably around. Wash doesn’t know if North is still alive—it’s been a while since the beacon went off.

York’s healing unit feels like it’s burning against Wash’s chest. Wash shoves sentimentality aside. It doesn’t matter if North’s dead or not. It can’t matter.

He opens the door where the gunfire is coming from, and narrows his eyes. South is kneeling below the window, returning fire. North is lying on his back in a bubbleshield, someone kneeling over him, clearly trying to administer first aid.

“Wash!” South says, seeing him, clearly relieved.

The woman helping North turns around. “David!”

Wash freezes, as he sees a face ripped out of his dreams.

Freckles, brown hair, blue eyes, glasses. An older face, slightly taller (but not much), braces gone.

But it can’t be anyone else but Jackie.

“What?” Wash’s voice cracks.

“Stop freaking out and help!” South yells, grabbing a grenade and lobbing it out the window.

Wash takes in the apartment in a second, and recognizes the various homey touches—mostly the piles upon piles of books stacked everywhere.

This is definitely Jackie’s home. Wash swallows, and then nods at North, who’s managed to raise his head. “Lower the shield!”

Theta flickers into existence, and the shield goes down long enough for Wash to slip through.

“Theta, can you run the healing unit?” Wash pulls it out.

Theta looks at him. “I can, but… the shield…”

“Run it only when you have to,” Wash says, placing it. “Jackie…”

“I’m not leaving North,” Jackie snaps, her eyes flashing stubbornly. “Go help South!”

Wash swallows. She knows their names. This isn’t a coincidence. What has he gotten into? Is this some sort of trick or a trap?

He forces himself to focus. He rolls forward. “We need to get the Meta away from this building!”

“Agreed!” South says. “Ready to jump?”

Wash grits his teeth and doesn’t look at his sister. He wonders if South is doing the same with North.

“Go!” Wash yells, and the two of them vault out the window.

* * *

Wash and South finally make their way back to the apartment, sore and injured but alive. The Meta’s gone… for now. Wash figures that he must have decided Theta wasn’t worth it quite yet. Luckily he didn’t know about Delta.

They don’t talk on the way back, moving in silence as they walk through the abandoned streets. The all-clear hasn’t been given yet.

Wash subtly looks around. It’s a civilian town, on a small colony. A _university_ town. He guesses that’s why Jackie’s here, but that doesn’t explain the twins. All reports he’s seen have them doing mercenary work in various parts of the galaxy. Why are they _here_? And why does his sister know them?

Wash makes himself stay calm, but it’s hard. Every inch of him screams that this has to be a trap, and the voice sounds like Epsilon.

But it’s _Jackie_. She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t have anything to do with Freelancer, not knowingly.

But she’d known it was him, without him even needing to speak.

How had she known he was alive?

Wash’s questions left his stomach in an unpleasant state, and he bit his tongue to stop himself from demanding answers from South. He’d get them at the apartment.

Jackie has managed to move North to the couch in their absence, and gotten his helmet off. Theta is hovering on the back of the couch, talking to Jackie quietly, while Jackie tries to convince North to eat something. North, still pale from blood loss and soaked in sweat, doesn’t respond to Jackie, only pushes himself up on the couch at the sight of Wash and South.

“David!” Jackie says, turning to him. “Or… Wash. That’s what you go by now, right?” She looks at him, earnestly.

“What’s going on here?” Wash demands. “Jackie, what—”

“We’re her roommates,” South says, moving to the couch to check on North. “Theta, what’s he looking like?”

“He’ll be fine!” Theta says, and the little AI can’t hide his relief. “The healing unit is fixing things.”

“York’s dead, isn’t he?” North rasps. South freezes, her hand still on North’s forehead.

“Yes,” Wash says. Then he focuses on Jackie. “Roommates?” He repeats.

“Any friends of yours,” Jackie sings, putting down the glass of orange juice she’d been carrying on the coffee table, which is amazingly still intact.

“ _Jackie_ ,” Wash says, warningly.

“I met them at the diner. They recognized your photo. We started to put some pieces together,” Jackie says, sighing at him. “Honestly David.”

Wash’s fists clench. “And they just _happened_ to find you?”

Jackie flicks him. It doesn’t do anything thanks to the armor, but Wash stares at the familiar gesture. “Don’t be paranoid. That was their reaction when they met me and realized I’m your sister.”

Wash opens his mouth, then closes it.

“And take that stupid helmet off so I can be sure they haven’t replaced you with a robot,” Jackie adds.

Wash sets his teeth. “ _No_. We were just in the middle of a _firefight_.”

She glowers at him. “Don’t be melodramatic. The Meta is gone or you two wouldn’t be back.”

Wash blinks, distracted by her words. “You know about the Meta?”

“I live with two Freelancers,” Jackie puts her hands on her hips. “Seriously, take off the helmet!”

“No!” Wash snaps.

Jackie glowers at him, and he feels like a kid again. “Jerk,” she says. She turns away from him and stomps over to North to check on him. “You need to eat _something_ ,” she tells him.

“Nothing _you_ cooked,” North manages.

“Screw you, Dakota,” Jackie says fondly. “There’s leftovers in the fridge.”

Wash watches the scene carefully, not sure what to make of any of it. It doesn’t _fit_. The twins are mostly still in armor—South’s removed her helmet, and Jackie’s peeled off North’s boots and gloves. But they _fit_ , somehow. Now that Wash knows to look, he can see hints of the twins all over the apartment. Subtle, but it’s there.

Wash can’t wrap his mind around this strange arrangement.

“How did you even meet them?”

“They ate at my diner and South beat up my stalker,” Jackie says cheerfully, as she goes into the kitchen.

“ _Your what_?”

“Relax, it was ages ago,” Jackie says, emerging from the fridge with a container of Chinese take-out.

“Don’t tell me to relax. You had a _stalker_?”

“For a day,” Jackie says. “Like I said. South beat him up.”

“He deserved it,” South says.

“No one here’s denying that,” North says, while South helps him sit up more.

“Anyways, then they kept coming back because they liked the coffee, and then I showed them a picture in my wallet, and there you were, and then we had a nice conversation about you being dead, and then we realized it was faked,” Jackie says, perching on the arm of the couch and shoving the container of take-out into North’s hands. “Eat.”

South glances up. “So,” she says conversationally. “How are you going to report this to Command?”

Wash freezes. He hadn’t even _thought_ of that yet. Hadn’t even considered how he was going to try to—he _can’t_. If they know Jackie knows about Freelancer… he stares at his sister, who’s cheerfully talking to Theta about something. Wash stares, and wonders which of them is trying to distract the other.

“They’re going to investigate,” Wash says, blankly. “They _can’t_ know Jackie knows about Freelancer.”

North and South look at each other. “Time to move on then,” North says. Jackie frowns, but doesn’t say anything.

“They were passing through?” She asks, tapping her knee. “I clean up, make sure there’s no blood, they think I just got caught in the crossfire. No reason for you to have been here, the twins never heard of me.” Her eyes are cold.

“Might work,” Wash says. “But you two _can’t_ stay here. And you shouldn’t either, Jackie. The Meta might come back.”

Jackie’s lips go into a thin line. “If I pack up and leave suddenly, they’ll be suspicious.”

“The town just got bombed to hell in a firefight,” South snaps. “I think no one will be surprised if you decide to transfer.”

Jackie pauses, considering, before nodding. “Back to Iowa then,” she says. Wash flinches as the memories rise up. He shoves them back down quickly.

“I have to report in,” Wash says.

Jackie looks at him. “Do you have time to talk?” She asks. “They told us you were _dead_ , Wash.”

Wash takes a deep breath and tries not to think about how wrong his name sounds coming from his sister. “I know.”

He pictures, rather than sees, her flinch. “What?”

“I figured it out,” Wash says. “After Epsilon.”

“Your AI,” she whispers. She grabs him by the wrist and drags him into the kitchen. Wash could stop her easily, but he lets himself be pulled.

“ _Talk to me_ ,” she begs. “Please.” Wash looks at her. She reaches up and touches his helmet. “David.”

Wash shakes his head. “I can’t. You know too much already. You don’t… this isn’t your fight, Jackie.”

Jackie’s lips go into a thin line. Then she looks over her shoulder, towards the living room. “Then will you talk to _them_? They’re your _friends_.”

“They left me,” Wash says lowly, the old hurt rising to the surface, even though he tries to shove it down.

“I know,” Jackie says. “And I also know there was a crash, and that you were in the hospital, and that a lot of things were happening at once.” She crosses her arms. “And I know whatever game you’re planning, you’re going to need help. So _please_.”

Wash stares at her. “I’m not running any game.”

“ _Please_ ,” Jackie scoffs. “You want them hurt. You called it a fight.”

Wash groans at his own mistake. “Jackie—”

“I won’t ask,” Jackie rolls her eyes. “I know, I know, I can’t know too much.” Her eyes narrow. “But don’t be stupid, okay? Martha will kill you if you get yourself killed before you can see her again.” She touches his helmet again, and Wash nearly removes it, nearly lets her see his face.

But he doesn’t.

“I’ll be fine, Jackie,” he lies. “I have a plan.”

Jackie looks at him, incredulous. “No you don’t,” she says.

Wash’s shoulders slump. “You got better,” he mutters.

“Psychologist,” Jackie says, grinning weakly.

Wash glances at the twins. “I’ll talk to them,” he says, finally. “Once you leave.”

Jackie smiles at him, and hugs him. Wash freezes. He can’t feel her through his armor. Carefully, he lowers his arms, and hugs her back.

For a second, he can pretend things are okay.

“Be careful,” she whispers. “We all miss you, okay? And come home. Frank joined the army because of you. Give him a reason to come home afterwards.”

Wash nods, stiffly.

He walks away to go to war again.

This time, he does look back.

Just once.


	5. She’s All that I Got

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this for Fluff Week ages ago, but apparently I never cross posted it over here! So!
> 
> Freelancer Mitch verse fluff, Mitch and Niner after a nightmare. 
> 
> **Warnings** : Mentions of trauma, allusions to stuff from Don't Take This Sinner From Me

Niner has a tattoo of the state of Michigan on her wrist. She’s had it for years now. For years, it was all she had of Mitch. A tattoo on her wrist and a question that she’d never answered, hanging over their heads.

She runs her fingers through Mitch’s hair as she lays next to her. Mitch’s hair is finally growing out after Charon shaved it, the curls starting to show again. She traces the slight rise in Mitch’s skin where the pelican tattoo is.

For once, Mitch is sleeping peacefully. No nightmares for her tonight. Niner sighs, knowing that she’s not going to go back to sleep tonight. She roles out of the bed she and Mitch have been sharing, and tugs on the oversized sweater that serves as civilian clothes.

Armonia is oddly peaceful tonight. Niner sighs as she heads towards the caf.

“You’re up late,” Carolina says, and Niner goes for the gun she’s not carrying. Niner sees the flicker that is Epsilon logging off, and she’s glad. She doesn’t want to talk to the AI right now. She knows it isn’t really his fault, what happened to Mitch, but it’s hard not to blame him most days. Especially when he doesn’t have to deal with the nightmares, unlike Mitch.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Niner says simply.

Carolina nods, accepting this. “Me too,” she says quietly. “It’s… unsettling.”

“It won’t last long,” Niner says, bitter.

“I guess we should be grateful,” Carolina says.

Niner snorts. “It’s just going to make it worse when it actually comes.”

Carolina nods.

“How’s she doing?” Carolina asks, after a long silence.

Niner glances at her. “That you asking, or the lightbulb in your brain?” She asks, suspicious.

“Me,” Carolina says firmly.

Niner wraps her fingers around her tattoo. “She’s fine. Sleeping. Might actually not have a nightmare tonight if she’s lucky.”

“She hasn’t been sleeping well, huh?” Carolina asks.

“Not since we’ve found each other,” Niner says.

Carolina looks at her wrist. “Did you two ever get married?” She asks.

“No,” Niner says, and it’s a heavy admission. It’s been years since the proposal, years since she accepted, but it’s never happened. Mitch hasn’t even brought it up since Epsilon.

Carolina looks at her thoughtfully. “Maybe you should talk to her about it.”

Of course, that’s when Mitch starts screaming. Niner starts running before she can even process what’s happening.

Mitch is thrashing. Tonight she’s not saying names, or even words. It’s just one long, drawn out scream. Which is good, because Niner can solve these ones. She knows how to handle these.

“Mitch!” She yells, and she grabs Mitch’s shoulder, using her strength to keep Mitch pinned. Mitch’s eyes fly open, wide and frantic, and she’s still flailing wildly, but Niner is keeping her in place. “Mitch, wake up! It’s me. You’re safe. He’s gone, Mitch. Epsilon’s gone.”

Mitch calms down slowly, slumping down against the pillows, sweat-streaked and panting. “Andi,” she whispers.

It’s rare she uses Niner’s real name. It’s incredibly intimate. When she’d told Mitch the first time, that was when she’d known there was no turning back.

“My name is Michelle,” Mitch says, pressing kisses against Niner’s face. “Andi,” she whispers, and Niner tries not to shiver at the way her name sounded coming from her.

“Are you _kidding_?” Niner says, wrapping her legs around Mitch’s waist.

“Nope,” Mitch grins against Niner’s skin. “I’m Mitch. Always have been.”

“Mitch,” Niner gasps, threading her fingers through Mitch’s hair. “Mitch.” _My Mitch_.

“Marry me,” she says now, in the present. “Mitch, marry me.”

Mitch stares up at her. “Andi?”

“Marry me,” Niner says. “Mitch. I love you. Marry me.”

“You don’t want to wait?” Mitch blurts.

“I’ve lost years,” Niner says. “I am not letting them keep us apart anymore. So. Marry me?” She smiles, and tries to pretend her heart isn’t beating a thousand miles per hour.

Mitch twines their fingers together, her fingers brushing against the tattoo for just a single moment. It’s enough to send electricity down Niner’s spine. “ _Yes_ ,” she says, and then she’s sitting up, and she’s kissing Niner hungrily, cupping Niner’s face in her hands. Niner starts to tug at Mitch’s shirt.

There’s a yelp, and Mitch and Niner break apart to glare at whoever has intruded.

It’s Wash, and he’s covering his face in his hands.

“Wash!” Mitch yells, and one of her hands leave Niner’s face in order to reach under the pillow for a throwing knife.

“You were screaming!” Wash’s hands are firmly pressed against his eyes.

“And I’m fine! Now _get out_!”

The door slams, and Niner and Mitch look at each other.

“Why does this always happen to us?” Mitch wonders.

“Because you two are like teenagers!” Tex yells from outside.

“Tex!” Wash yelps, horrified.

“What? It’s true. Every single one of us walked in on them at Freelancer. Even me.”

“Worth it,” Mitch says against Niner’s jaw.

“Where’d you find them?” Carolina asks.

“Walked in on them in the pelican before a mission,” Tex says.

“Seriously?”

“Why are you surprised? It’s Niner’s favorite things all in one place.”  

“You’re just jealous!” Mitch yells. “Now I’m going to have sex with my fiancé, so you perverts get out of here!” She tugs her shirt over her head, and turns her attention back to Niner in full. 

“Mitch!” Wash yelps.

Tex laughs, and Niner laughs as Mitch pulls her down towards the mattress.


	6. Raised on the Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Donut Siblings? Freelancer Mitch? While I’m on vacation? Unsurprising, really, let’s be honest. I decided we needed to see Joel’s introduction to this AU. If you saw some of my earlier stuff, well, I changed my mind. Oops. Kind of rough and choppy, pretty short, but eh. Hopefully it does what I need it to do, since it’s the first of several things I have planned about badass Freelancer mom Mitch.
> 
>  **Warnings for:** References to trauma, child endangerment and abandonment.

There’s someone crying.

Mitch is exhausted to the bone. She hasn’t slept in forty eight hours, and her leg is fucked from fighting with Locus yesterday. She’s separated from the others on her patrol, going through an abandoned city that’s mostly ruins.

She pauses and listens, straining her ears.

There’s _definitely_ someone crying.

She’s pretty sure it’s a baby.

Mitch reaches for her knife. It could be a trap. It probably _is_ a trap.

But she can’t risk it. This city’s supposed to be abandoned, but Mitch knows that doesn’t mean anything. Theoretically, some rare neutral parties could have been camping out in the ruins. There could easily be a real child here, even if it’s just as likely it’s just Felix with a baby monitor and some explosives.

She treads lightly. She considers calling for backup, but dismisses it. The others are a few klicks away. If this is a baby, she can’t afford to wait. This area’s a wasteland. It’s no place for a child.

She tracks the sound back to what looks like a collapsed building. She places a hand on her pistol, and crouches to investigate. Her visor automatically adjusts for the darkness, and her blood runs cold as she takes in the scene.

There’s definitely a child down there. Trapped, beneath the rubble. She doesn’t know how it’s still alive. But she’s not sure how long whatever is preventing it from getting crushed will stay in place—the entire building looks unstable. She has to get it out.

There’s no visible way in, which means Mitch has to make one.

Gritting her teeth, Mitch does something incredibly stupid. Niner’s going to kill her for this when she gets home.

Running her strength mod is dangerous at the best of times. Mitch is currently pretty far from the best of times. Her leg twinges, as if determined to remind her of just how awful of an idea this is.

She does it anyways,

Her muscles scream in protest and she staggers, dizzy, but the cement block moves, and Mitch shifts her grip so that she can move. Not pausing to think, she scoops up the small bundle in her other arm, hoping the strength mod doesn’t damage it, and then, once she’s moved back to safety, she lets go.

The baby’s still crying, still sobbing. Carefully, Mitch adjusts her grip so that none of the edges of her armor are poking it, and then takes off her helmet. It’s stupid—if this is a trap, she’s dead. Her face hasn’t been in the open air in… she’s not sure how long. Maybe not since Sidwinder, where they’d ripped her armor off her to get to her implants, to pull Epsilon out of her head. The baby hiccups to a stop, staring up at her with wide brown eyes.

“Hello,” she whispers, smiling at it. The face is red. A few tufts of dark hair stick out of the top. It can’t be any older than a few months, which is sickening. She wouldn’t have thought anyone would have been willing to have kids on Chorus, not in the middle of this mess.

The baby lets out another hiccup.

“Where are your parents?” She muses. They couldn’t be far gone, not if the baby had enough energy to cry.

She picks up her helmet and signals the others to meet her with a vehicle. It’s the Lieutenants, and they stop to stare at the sight of her with a baby in her arms.

“Is that a _baby_?” Bitters demands.

“Yes,” Mitch says, putting her helmet back on. The baby’s asleep now. She sighs in relief. “We need to get him to Doctor Grey.”

The baby starts to squirm. Mitch begins to hum a lullaby, digging deep into her memories to try to find one. The one she finds she’s not sure if it was one she sang to her siblings, or if it was what the Director sang to Carolina. For once, she finds it doesn’t bother her, the tainting and mixing of her memories. What matters is that slowly, the baby settles down and goes back to sleep.

She ignores how the lieutenants are staring openly.

“What’s his name?” Jensen asks.

“I’m not sure. We’ll have to find his family,” Mitch says, finding herself unable to take her eyes off the tiny face in her arms.

“You think he has one? In this mess?” Bitters asks.

“Probably,” Mitch says, practically. “He hasn’t been alone for long.”

* * *

Wash blinks when he sees Mitch holding a baby when he gets back to base.

Tucker had just told him “Wash, you need to see this”, with no other information, before steering him towards the common area. The last thing Wash expected to see when he got there was Mitch out of armor, sitting cross-legged on the floor, with a baby in her arms. “Mitch,” he says, his voice as flat and dry as he can make it. “Did you kidnap a baby?”

“ _No_!” Mitch pauses. “Sort of. He was abandoned! I’m looking for his parents.”

Wash glances down. “Where did you find him?” He kneels down next to her.

“His house collapsed,” Mitch says, brushing her fingers along the tiny face. “I got him out.”

Wash pauses. “Mitch,” he says, slowly. “You didn’t use your strength mod, did you?” He squints at her, noticing how sallow she looks. “ _Mitch_!”

“I had to!” Mitch says, and Wash thinks she’s clutching the baby even tighter. “He could have been hurt!”

“Have you been to Doctor Grey?” Wash demands, grabbing her arm. “Mitch, you know what that thing does to you!”

“I’m _fine_!” Mitch protests. “Really!”

“I don’t believe you,” Wash says. “Mitch, give me the baby, let’s get you to the hospital!”

“We just came from there! We had to make sure he was fine.”

“And did you at any time mention using faulty Freelancer equipment?” Wash grabs the kid out of her arms, and he thinks, for a second, Mitch might lunge at him. “Stop being stubborn and _move_! I’ll give you the kid back after we’re sure you’re not going to fall down!”

“Why do you think I’m sitting down?” Mitch grumbles.

Wash rolls his eyes at her. “Hospital. _Now_.”

Mitch sighs, and gets to her feet, swaying for a second. Wash swallows, making sure to redirect his eyes to the baby in his arms instead of his little sister.

The old, familiar, hot fury pounds in his ears as he sees yet another reminder of what Freelancer did to her. He needs to talk to Carolina and Niner. Maybe they can convince Mitch to give up the strength mod. She always insists she needs it for emergencies, but Wash can’t help but think it’s not worth it.

* * *

“So you got a kid, Niner?” Tex asks, glancing at Mitch. She and Alpha had just gotten back from their mission, only to find half the base in a fit because of how the big bad Freelancer had been reduced to a pile of mush by a baby. Tex _had_ to come check it out for herself.

Mitch is fully out of armor, a rare sight these days. She’s cradling the kid close to her chest, and Tex hears her humming softly, letting the kid grab her finger.

Niner grimaces. “Mitch says no.”

Tex glances at Mitch incredulously. “Seriously?”

Niner sighs. “She won’t let herself think she can keep him. She’s sure his parents are around the corner.”

“Didn’t Grey say she couldn’t find a match?”

“Yes,” Niner says. She looks at Mitch, and Tex almost wants to gag at the soft expression on the pilot’s face. “I think she’s also convinced herself she doesn’t deserve it.”

Tex groans. “Is that entire family destined for self-hatred and dramatics?”

“Probably,” Niner says. She plays with her wedding ring.

“I’d start looking for that picket fence, Niner,” Tex advises, watching Mitch smile softly at the kid. “Mitch might not realize it, but I’m pretty sure you just married a mom.”

* * *

“So what’s his name?”

“Not sure,” Mitch says, letting the baby gum her thumb. “We still haven’t found his parents.”

Tucker groans. “You can’t just keep calling him “the kid”, you know. Gotta come up with _something_.”

Mitch pauses, considering. Her mind swarms with dozens of names—some from her life, some not. She latches onto one frail thread, and follows it back to the source. Epsilon will not name her— _this_ —child. He doesn’t get that. “Joel,’ she says, quietly.

Tucker grins, and holds out his hands. Carefully, Mitch transfers Joel to his arms. “Hey Joel,” Tucker says cheerfully. “I’m your Uncle Tucker.”

Mitch flushes. “I’m not—”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Tucker laughs, bouncing Joel slightly. “I bet Junior’s going to love him, don’t you think?”

Mitch lets herself think, for a second. She lets her mind go back to the secret dream she’s been holding close to her heart since Freelancer. The old farm, back home. Her and Niner. Her family. Once it had been the Freelancers, now it was the Reds and Blues. It was a dream. They wouldn’t want to follow her home. But it was a _nice_ dream.

There had always been kids in the dream. But now, she found, it has one specific kid in particular.

Mitch swallows. Joel has parents, somewhere. They’ll come for him. She’s sure of this.

Something this precious she will never be allowed to keep.

* * *

Carolina stares down at Joel, who’s sleeping peacefully in his cradle. “You really look like her,” she says, quietly.

She reaches down, and carefully touches him. “It’s good she has you,” she tells him. “You make her happy. You remind her…” She trails off. “She’ll be a good parent.” Not like her. York had always talked about kids, but Carolina knew better. She wasn’t made to be a parent. She wasn’t sure anyone in her family was.

Epsilon flickered into existence. The baby coos and reaches up, batting small hands in his direction, but he’s unable to reach.

“I don’t think he looks like her,” Church says.

“Epsilon,” she reprimands lightly.

“What? He’s all… squishy!” Epsilon moves closer, and Joel lets out a giggle and reaches again.

“Babies usually are,” Carolina says, leaning against the edge of the crib.

Epsilon keeps looking, seemingly frozen in place. “He’s good for her,” he says, quietly.

“She always wanted kids,” Carolina agrees.

“What, think he’s just the first?” Epsilon flickers, and reappears on her shoulder.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Carolina says.

“Has she even admitted she’s keeping him yet?”

“No,” Carolina says.

“But it’s been weeks!”

Carolina says nothing, just reaches down and adjusted the blanket. It’s a plain grey—nothing special, nothing distinctive. But it’s the color of Mitch’s armor. Carolina smiles to herself.

“She’ll come around,” she says confidently.

* * *

“There’s always going to be a place for you here,” Kimball looks exhausted but triumphant, and smiles at Mitch, like she already knows what the answer will be, and doesn’t mind.

Mitch laughs, honest and rough. It hurts her throat. It feels wrong in her chest. “No,” she says.

She feels some of the Reds and Blues behind her startle. “What?” Simmons squawks.

Kimball places a hand on her arm. “Good luck, Agent Michigan.”

Mitch takes her helmet off, shaking out her hair. It’s finally growing out. “It’s Mitch,” she says.

“Back to the farm?” Wash says from her side. Mitch feels like her face might crack from smiling.

“We’re going _home_ ,” Mitch says. She picks up Joel, who clings to her, laughing, and she nearly weeps with joy. She’s bringing her son back to Iowa. She’s going _home_.

Niner laughs and snags Mitch around the waist, pulling her into a kiss. “Take me home, farmer girl,” she whispers. Mitch thinks her heart just might burst.

“You’ll love it,” she promises. “You _will_.”

She looks down at her son. _Their_ son. She thinks of him getting to grow up in that house, on the farm. She thinks of him getting to meet his aunts, his grandparents. Mitch nearly breaks down right then and there.

 _Home_. 


	7. The Maelstrom Has Us All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Donut Sibling AUs return! For those of you who are new here, this is really not the best place to start. At all. 
> 
> A while back the darling sroloc_elbisivni asked me about an AU where all the sisters AUs happened in the same universe (Donut’s AU, we determined, made everything too tragic to throw in as well). So… Freelancer Mitch coexists alongside Agent Washington, and Martha’s running around on Chorus. Jackie doesn’t get a mention here but it’s safe to guess that she’d pop in eventually. 
> 
> This is a lot more slapdash than previous AUs have been; I basically realized that to do everything I had in mind it’d take 10k or so. But I figured that what I had was fairly coherent (shout out to the amazing a-taller-tale for checking it over for me!) And that I might as well share! 
> 
> Warnings in the end notes!

“Maine?” She whispered. “Maine, please.” She wanted him to answer her more than anything. For him to wake up, free of Sigma’s influence. To be her friend again, to be whole and happy and not the Meta. For this nightmare to be over. To not be alone anymore. It had been just her and Wash for so long…

Her hands were shaking as she fiddled with the seals of his helmet and pulled it off him. His eyes were open, and he growls at her. It was a sound she hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

“Meta?” He reached up, and grabbed her hand and she swallowed, tears beginning to leak down her face.

“ _Maine_.”

He grunted in affirmation, and took her hand, letting her guide him upright.

As soon as he was, she pulled him into a tight hug. “You’re okay,” she sobbed. It was more than she had ever dared hope for.

He tapped her helmet, and she reached up and tossed it to the side without a thought. He rested his forehead against hers.

He grunted the familiar single syllable that was her name, and Mitch felt her face grow even wetter as she clung to him.

“I should check on Wash,” she muttered, after they sat there. “The UNSC is probably on their way.”

Maine nodded, and she moved away, reaching over to check him. The biofoam had been dispensed, and he was stable. Still unconscious though.

She swallowed. “He’s okay.”

Maine pressed his hand against Wash’s helmet.

Mitch licked her lips. She had to think ahead now, had to assess. “I think…” She said, slowly. “We might get in trouble for this. For a while. I’m sure it’ll be cleared up soon, but… if we’re separated…”

Maine grunted a protest.

“Women’s prison, Maine,” Mitch reminded him. “If we’re separated. Can you keep an eye on him? He’s been… it’s not good, Maine. Epsilon hurt him bad.”

Maine nodded, tapping his chestplate once. _Promise_.

“Be careful, okay?” Mitch said. “Don’t let them hurt you.” She took off Wash’s helmet and carefully started brushing out his hair with her fingers.

When the UNSC came, they dragged Mitch away from her brother and ignored her screams as they put her in handcuffs.

She wouldn’t see her brother or Maine again for a very long time.

* * *

The Meta stood far too close for comfort. Wash kept his hands wrapped tight around his gun and held his breath, waiting for the Meta to make a move, to justify shooting him.

Wash was being patient. He was good at the long game. He had waited _years_ to destroy Freelancer. He’d make sure that he was free before avenging Mitch. She’d forgive him for that.

But the Meta didn’t do anything, merely backed away. Wash gritted his teeth. Working alongside his sister’s killer was difficult. But he’d do it. To get to the Alpha, to make that bastard pay for Mitch.

Mitch had been the one who refused to press the issue, who had grabbed Wash by the arm. “It’s the two of us,” she’d said to him, quietly. “We can handle this.”

If Alpha had been there, Wash _knew_ Mitch would be alive. Watching his back.

Wash curled his hands tighter around his rifle.

The Alpha first. Then the Meta.

He’d avenge her. He just needed to bide his time.

“Move,” he said. “We’re heading to Valhalla.”

The Meta followed behind him. Too closely.

* * *

Wash raised his gun, feeling oddly calm as he menaced the Simulation Trooper.

Suddenly the Meta was on him, grabbing his arm and twisting it, forcing Wash to drop it with a shout. It hit the ground and went off, hitting the brown Trooper, who went down, cursing in Spanish.

“Get off me!” Wash snarled, trying to break free. The pink and the maroon soldier had ran for it. “Meta, let _go of me_ , or I swear to god—”

The Meta yanked him closer, pressing Wash against his chest. He made a rumbling noise.

 _No_.

Wash growled. “I should kill you,” he snapped. “We need to—we need to know where the Alpha is _now_.”

The Meta growled again, and Wash hated that he understood him. “Yes, of course I was going to shoot him!”

The Meta wrapped his other arm around Wash, preventing Wash from going for his knives.

“Don’t you dare speak about Mitch,” Wash snapped. “You don’t—you don’t get to talk about her! It’s your fault she’s dead!”

The Meta made a noise that Wash hadn’t heard in a very long time.

“What do you mean, _what_?” Wash demanded. “You _shot her_. She bled out.”

The Meta released him suddenly, and Wash spun to face him, hand on his knife, just in time to see him shake his head.

“What do you mean _no_?” Wash said.

The Meta tapped his helmet, and then shook his head, and then made a single, simple growl.

Wash dropped his knife.

“Maine?”

* * *

“What do you mean?” Wash asked, staring at Niner, then Texas, then Carolina.

“She’s _alive_ , Wash,” Niner sounded exhausted but triumphant. “They faked it. We’ve got a signal.”

Wash swallowed. Behind him, he could feel the Reds and Blues shifting.

“You’re sure?” He asked. “It—they could have just taken her armor. Like CT.”

“Video footage,” Texas said, grimly. “Prison transport, heading to some rock called Chorus.”

“But why?” Wash demanded. “Why fake her death? What purpose could they possibly have?”

“Wash,” Carolina said. “The people who have her. It’s the Insurrection.”

Wash stopped cold.

“What’s the Insurrection?” Tucker asked.

“Old enemies,” Wash said, feeling numb. “We fought against them in Project Freelancer.”

“They wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble just to shoot her in a back alley,” Tex said. “They want her alive.”

“And we’re going to find her,” Niner said. “You in, Wash?”

“Yes,” Wash said, immediately. “Yes.”

Tucker nudged Wash. “Dude. Should we go get the Reds? They’ll probably want in on this. Or at least…”

“Maine will,” Wash said in agreement.

“ _Maine_?” The three women chorused, only to be ignored as Tucker took off in the direction of Red Base.

Meanwhile, Church and Tex had started to argue, but Wash didn’t care.

His sister was _alive_.

* * *

“Spar with me,” Felix demanded, tossing his knife up and down.

Michigan tilted her head. She was out of armor for once, wearing fatigues and a tank top. The pelican tattoo on her shoulder was visible, and her brown eyes were dead as ever. Her face didn’t move, no matter what was said to her.

“Felix,” Locus said, warningly.

“What? It’s combat related! I’m allowed to give orders there, _remember_?” Felix said snidely. “Besides, I want to see how she— _oof_.”

Michigan had seized Felix by the arm and began to twist, kicking out at the back of his knees, trying to force him down.

“Seriously?” Felix demanded, yelping as Michigan pinned him to the ground, one hand on the back of his neck, the other keeping his arm twisted.

“Round,” Michigan said flatly.

“You cheated,” Felix accused. Michigan stared at him blankly. Felix sighed, and tapped the ground with his other hand. Quickly, she got to her feet and retreated, keeping her eyes on him.

Locus sat down his datapad and leaned forward to observe.

Michigan lunged again, but this time Felix was ready for her and twisted out of the way, drawing his knife out of his holster.

“Let’s see how you do,” he said, slashing upwards, towards her face.

Michigan dodged, and then there was a knife in her own hand, which startled Felix, as he hadn’t seen a sheath on her person.

Felix grinned and lunged again. This was going to be _fun_.

* * *

The armor was a painful shade of grey.

Wash felt himself frozen in place as he stared at the simple, plain armor. It was shiny and in good repair, and the person holding it held a midrange rifle in her armored hand. A knife was visible in a holster at her side, and Wash knew it was far from the only one she had on her person.

“Mitch?” Niner was the one to say it, softly, shattered, brokenly.

“Stay where you are,” the voice was Mitch’s yet not—perfectly stiff. There was no hint of recognition as she trained her gun at them.

“Well!” Felix appeared, knife in hand. Wash opened his mouth to yell at Mitch, to warn her, but Felix clasped a hand on her shoulder in a way that stopped him cold.

“Look who we have here!” Felix crowed.

“Orders, Felix?” Mitch said, cold and clinical.

“What did you do, you _bastard_?” Niner yells. Carolina, behind him, is frozen.

“ _I_ didn’t do anything,” Felix says, still leaning against Mitch. “Michelle here was sent here by our employer!” Wash couldn’t see Felix’s face, but he knew there was a grin. “Michelle’s her name, in case you were wondering, Carolina. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Carolina was very still, and Wash knew that no, Mitch hadn’t ever told her that.

“You son of a bitch,” Carolina said.

“Agent Michigan,” Locus growled. “Kill Agent Washington. Move out!”

There was a spray of gun fire, and the next thing Wash knew, his sister was barreling towards him with a knife in her hand, intent on the kill.

* * *

“Mitch, this isn’t you,” the man in grey armor pleaded. “Mitch _listen_!”

Michigan slashed forward with her knife, sliding it between the gap in his armor. He let out a strangled noise, and gripped at her arm. “Mitch,” he muttered.

“Take her down!” Kimball yelled, and then Michigan’s attention shifted to the general. She let Washington drop to the ground, and grabbed her next knife, with her left hand, her right hand going for her pistol.

She had orders. She was going to follow them.

Epsilon was writhing in her mind—something was wrong, but they didn’t know what. She nearly staggered forward, only the reflex enhancer stopping her from being riddled with bullets as Kimball and the four soldiers with her—the lieutenants, Michigan remembered—opened fire on her.

Flash grenade, roll forward, kick the green one, fire a shot at the blue one, punch the pink one, elbow to the chest for the gold one. The combat movements managed to soothe Epsilon, and he boosted her reflex enhancer, letting her curve herself upward in a flip, propelling herself towards Kimball.

“No!” Michigan wasn’t sure who said it, but she knocked Kimball down to the ground, her knife buried in her shoulder. Non-fatal. She’d have to fix that.

“Now that is not very nice!” The big blue one was there, suddenly, lifting her off before she could yank the blade out.

“Caboose! Keep hold of her!” Which one was that?

“I have found Freckles’s friend!” Captain Caboose cheered. Michigan twisted in his grip. Epsilon was yelling again. Her armor was covered in blood.

She grabbed the knife hidden in her gauntlets and stabbed his leg, forcing him to let her go.

“Retreat, Agent Michigan,” Locus growled in her ear, a sniper shot going off, forcing the enemy to scatter.

Michigan did so without hesitation.

But she did notice that Agent Washington’s fallen form was no longer there. She wasn’t sure why that seemed to slow down her heartrate and calm Epsilon.

* * *

“She’s _fighting it_ ,” Wash said, lowly.

Carolina froze in the doorway. “What?”

“She left the knife in, Carolina.”

“She was switching targets,” Carolina said, but her face was thoughtful.

“When did that _ever_ stop her?” Wash forced himself to sit up. “And she did it to Kimball too! She’s fighting it, fighting the orders!”

Carolina looks at him. “If she’s fighting it…”

“We might be able to break it,” Wash said.

“That’s a great theory, but we still don’t know what they did to her,” Tex points out, crossing her arms. “And it could just be that whatever they did to her scrambled her instincts.” Wash tried to get up, and she pushed him back down. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. I think we need _proof_.”

“I’ve got proof,” Wash snapped, reaching into the drawer and pulling out the knife she’d slid between his ribs. “Maine, _look_.”

Maine took the knife from Wash, and turned it over slowly in his hands. A short, rumbling noise burst out of Maine’s chest, startling Tex.

“What is it?”

“Her lucky knife,” Wash said. “She’d leave it with me or Maine if one of us had a dangerous mission without her.”

“Could be a coincidence,” Tex pointed out.

Wash shook her head. “She’s got better knives,” he insisted. “This one’s _lucky_.”

Carolina took it from Maine and looked at it. “Niner gave this to her,” she whispered. “I remember it.”

Wash had forgotten that part. He still didn’t remember, but he nodded anyway. “She’s trying to protect us,” he said. “Carolina, we need to convince Kimball not to kill her.”

Tex flicked his forehead. “Wash. She’s not going to tell the armies not to defend themselves.”

Wash swallowed, then schooled his face. “Then we need to get her out of there _soon_.”

* * *

Sharkface grabbed her throat. “Nothing to say, huh?”

Michigan shoved him away, face actually showing emotion for once—irritation. “Mission completed,” she said, and there was an edge to it, a bite, that she’d lacked before.

“So you _can_ talk,” Sharkface mocked, kicking her helmet where it had fallen to the ground, sending it spinning away. Michigan’s normally blank face twisted into something close to a scowl.

“Confirm,” she spat.

“Well then,” he said, moving closer into her personal space. “Tell me this. Do you know who I am?”

“Sharkface,” she said, her features slowly settling back into her normal, empty self. “Allowed to give orders under combat situations. Orders may be ignored in certain circumstances. Permitted to be killed if necessary.”

Sharkface paused, realizing something for the first time. “You’re not supposed to tell me that.”

“No orders were given to hide them from you,” Michigan retorted. She was standing at parade rest. She still hadn’t moved to retrieve her helmet.

Sharkface examined her face, and spotted… _something_ in her eye. A tiny little spark. He found himself chuckling. “You’re fighting it. Oh, this will be _interesting_.”

* * *

Sharkface reached out and grabbed Michigan’s shoulder, blinking when the strap of her tank top shifted, revealing an intricate pelican tattoo. “What’s that for?” He grunted, not expecting an answer.

Michigan’s eyes grew distant. “I’m getting married,” she said, reaching up, her fingers almost touching the tattoo, but stopping just short of it. “Someday. She said yes.” There was a dampness that Sharkface had never seen before. He glanced around quickly and was grateful when no one else was near. Michigan showing odd emotions was something they were supposed to report.

She was supposed to be robotic, emotionless, and efficient. And she was. Most of the time. But sometimes, when Sharkface cornered her, when she’d been awake too long or was fresh from a fight, Sharkface could get reactions out of her. _Real_ reactions. And memories.

Epsilon flickered over her shoulder. “Will you quit it?” He demanded. “You’re going to get us in trouble. We need sleep.”

 _We_. Sharkface never questioned the plural.

Maybe he should.

He said nothing, and let Michigan and her AI go find their little corner of the base where she was tucked away. Sharkface had seen it. It was more of a cell than anything else—because of course, she’d never complain. Comfort was for those who could appreciate it.

* * *

Sharkface had never been on a mission alone with Michigan before.

The more he learned about Michigan, the less comfortable things were. They were supposed to report everything from contact with the Simulation Troopers to crying to odd noises.

They kept their pet Freelancer on a very short leash.

“How do you know Price?” He asked her. They’d been sent ahead to scout and she had just woken up for her shift. One of the best times to get real answers out of her.

“He worked for Freelancer,” she said. “He gave me the name Michigan. I think he thought it was funny.”

Sharkface had suspected this for a while. “That’s what I thought.”

He angled his head up towards the sky, and saw the birds moving. Signs of the Chorusians’s movement forward.

“We should get moving,” she said, following his gaze.

“Yes,” Sharkface said. “We should.”

She reached for her helmet.

Epsilon was always slower when she’d just woken up.

He was too slow to activate the reflex enhancer, too slow to stop Sharkface from picking up the big rock and slamming it down on Michigan’s head.

He took her helmet as he dragged her to the warthog. No need to leave it behind. She’d be wanting it.

They kept her on a short leash. That meant they were worried about it breaking.

He gritted his teeth when he saw that he was approaching Texas and Maine. He’d been hoping for Washington.

Their guns were pointed right at him.

He shrugged and raised his hand. “She said something about wanting to find her brothers,” he said easily.

As Texas pinned him to the ground and started cuffing him, he watched as Maine carefully removed Michigan’s armor and carried her away, oddly gentle.

* * *

Kimball glanced down at the woman handcuffed to the bed frame. She looked different out of armor. Her face was too thin and sallow, the faint traces of freckles barely visible. Her hair had been cut with a knife, unevenly and slanted. Her head was bowed, leaving the back of her neck exposed. There were scars, reaching out from the port on the back of Agent Michigan’s neck like a spiderweb, bright red and irritated.

She glanced up, finally noticing Kimball. Her eyes were brown, like Martha’s. But apart from that, Kimball was uncannily reminded of Wash.

“General,” Michigan said. Even her voice sounded different. Hesitant. Human.

Niner and Wash had fought them about the handcuffs. But the others hadn’t said a word. Kimball had ordered them both to get some rest, so Michigan was accompanied only by Donut, who had been talking cheerfully before Kimball had walked in.

“You know me then,” Kimball said.

Michigan bared her teeth in something that was clearly supposed to be a smile but came off as more of a grimace. “General Vanessa Kimball of the New Republic. Orders: kill her if she begins to suspect Felix or begins to discuss negotiations with the Federal Army.”

Kimball didn’t react. “And here I thought Felix would take care of that himself,” she said.

Michigan shrugged as best she could with the handcuffs. “He’d take point if he could. Same with… the General.” Something dark flashed across her face but she hid it quickly. If Kimball hadn’t been looking for it, she’d have missed it. “But if he was indisposed, I was to do it. Close range execution was preferred. No knives. It’d be too suspicious. Quick and clean and painless.” She snorted.

“Painless?” Kimball couldn’t help but ask.

“Felix’s orders,” Michigan said, and Kimball stared.

“Wow!” Donut said. “What a jerk!”

Kimball startled at the realization they weren’t alone. “Private Donut,” she said. “I think you should report to the General.”

Donut gave Michigan a worried look, but got to his feet. He got close—too close and kissed his sister on the cheek quickly before running off. Kimball nearly flinched, half-expecting to have a hostage situation on her hands. But Michigan let him go, and only looked after him longingly for a moment before returning her full attention to Kimball.

“Where is Martha?” Michigan said.

“It was decided that I’ll be handling this,” Kimball said grimly. “As an impartial party.”

Michigan let out a soft, bitter chuckle. “You’re not impartial, General,” she said. “You’re just the only one who’s willing to admit that I might have been a willing partner.”

Kimball sighed. “Perhaps.”

Michigan twisted her hands. “I can’t prove it,” she pointed out. “I was arrested, and then they transferred me, and then they implanted me, but I doubt you can prove when they put… Epsilon,” the name was short and painful, “In my head. Your doctor’s good, but I doubt she can tell that.”

“Actually, I can,” Grey said, exiting her office. “Well. I can’t. But someone can. It’ll be in Epsilon’s logs.”

Michigan shook her head. “No. It won’t.” She bit her lip. “Epsilon self-wiped regularly. It was part of our routine. He wiped me, he wiped himself of all extraneous information.”

Kimball raised her eyebrow. “That’s… extreme.”

“The programming was fragile,” Michigan said. “They needed to ensure I was under control.”

Kimball felt the knife scar on her shoulder twinge. “I can see why they’d be afraid of losing that,” she said.

Michigan met her eyes steadily. “What do you want from me, General?”

Kimball leaned forward. “What do you have, Agent?”

“Information,” Michigan said instantly. “ _Months_. Your Doctor Grey managed to make sure I remember _everything_. Even the things Epsilon made me forget. And I’ve been fighting with them just as long. I know how they work, I know how they fight, I know their numbers.” And then she grinned, a dangerous one with too many teeth. “And if you give me a knife and get me close enough, I’ll get you Felix’s head,” she offered.

“Not a gun?”

“I’m better with knives.”

Kimball looked at her. “You’re not free yet. But I’ll tell Washington and Niner you’re allowed visitors.”

Something cracked behind Michigan’s clear brown eyes. “ _Thank you_ ,” she whispered.

Kimball looked away, and got to her feet. “Doctor Grey, keep an eye on her,” she ordered. “We can’t take any risks here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: violence, brainwashing, grief
> 
> For more Donut Sibs and other nonesense, hit me up on [Tumblr](http://www.secretlystephaniebrown.tumblr.com)!


	8. Sibling Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crossover with Renaroo's Hero Time: In which the next generation fights crime, to the family's disapproval.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After months of leaving this in my “To Do” pile, I have finally gotten around to my long-promised crossover with amazing renaroo‘s Hero Time! Dubiously takes place sometime in the far future of that series, contains some vague spoilers for Double Time, but nothing serious. Also contains the magnificent goodluckdetective‘s Charlie and Lauren, because why would I leave them out of the fun.

Shannon Caboose was a Caboose through and through, and she had the super strength to prove it. And a sonic cry that could shatter glass, but who’s counting.

She shifted in her seat, feeling weird in her homemade costume compared to, well.

Compared to Junior’s.

Having a cousin—even an adopted one—who was an actual superhero really did a good job at making the rest of them look pretty silly.

Lauren sat on the hay bale, arms crossed. Charlie hovered beside her—actually hovered, because Charlie was also a show-off, no matter what she claimed.

Joel lay on the floor, playing with the knives Uncle Wash had given him for his birthday.

Junior looked at them all. “We could get in trouble for this,” he warned.

“Mom _never_ lets us go out,” Joel complained. “She keeps saying ‘when you’re older’. You were _four_ when you started!”

“Just one night,” Lauren wheedled. “We just want to see what it’s like.”

Junior was a lot older than them, a lot more experienced than them, and then, well, there was the whole alien thing. But he’d been family for years, ever since Ma had dumped her old teammate on the couch and said she was doubling back to get his boyfriend and kid.

“It’s not like we’re unprotected,” Charlie pointed out, perfectly reasonable. “We’ve all been training for this.”

Junior made a noise that sounded a lot like Uncle Wash.

“How do we even get there?” He asked.

“Aunt Martha’s visiting,” Joel said, sitting upright and grinning. Shannon supposed they should just be glad that he wasn’t hanging from the rafters again. Just because he had super reflexes didn’t mean he had to show off all the time, in Shannon’s opinion. She tugged at her leather jacket’s zipper. “We can borrow her truck, there’s room for all of us.”

Junior nodded slowly. “Well, let’s go then,” he said.

They all piled out of the hayloft slowly, hoping the noise wouldn’t disturb Shannon and Joel’s moms. Sleepover weekends at the farm were great, but Ma was a light sleeper, and no one wanted to get caught.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Aunt Martha demanded. She was sitting on the hood of her truck, spinning the keys in her hand.

They all froze in their tracks, and Shannon realized that _maybe_ the fear that had been creeping over them of being caught by Ma wasn’t entirely natural.

Martha snapped her fingers, and the dread dissipated. “I could feel your nervousness from the guesthouse,” she told them. “Honestly. You’re just lucky your Aunt Jackie wasn’t here.”

“We…”

“You’re going off to the city to fight crime, I know.” Martha stared at them all, taking in their makeshift costumes. “Lauren,” she said sternly. “Are you wearing brass knuckles?”

“Yes.” Lauren was unrepentant.

“Well. Good to know your dads raised you right.”

She tossed Junior the keys.

They all stared at her, eyes wide and mouths gaping.

“What?” Lauren demanded.

“Stay out of Blood Gulch,” she demanded. “Stay in the safer areas, I don’t care if they’re less fun. If any of you get hurt,” she grinned, and the fear was back.  

“That’s _cheating_ ,” Joel told her.

“I’m giving you a ride, kids. Stop complaining.” She walked away.

They all looked at each other, and piled into the car. Junior, as the only one who could actually drive, even if he didn’t have a license, got the driver’s seat. Shannon, being the second oldest, managed to grab shotgun. The others sat in the back, and argued viciously about the music, the seating arrangements, and about the fine layer of dog hair that covered the upholstery of the truck.

It wasn’t too long of a drive into the city, but Shannon shifted, keeping an eye on the sky. Even with Aunt Martha on their side, she kept expecting to see Mom swooping down from the sky, ready to drag them all home.

“We probably should have stayed out of Blood Gulch anyways,” Charlie said. The back of the truck was too short for Charlie—Shannon would have to give her the front on the way back. “Uncle Wash and Aunt Tex patrol there. We might be caught.”

“Aunt Tex wouldn’t care,” Shannon said. She played with her zipper again.

“Uncle Wash would,” Joel said. He’d fashioned a crude harness to carry his knives, trying to emulate Uncle Wash’s costume as best he could. It wasn’t that effective, but it wasn’t like Shannon’s cheap leather jacket had much resemblance to Tex’s.

They all wince at the thought of Uncle Wash catching them.

“Yeah,” Shannon said. “Let’s avoid Blood Gulch.”

“Please,” Junior muttered.

They parked the truck and passed around the masks that Lauren had made. They were good—nothing like the visors that real superheroes had, but Shannon figured they had to start somewhere.

“So what do we do now?” Charlie asked Junior.

Junior looked at them, and grinned.

“Now we find a roof, and then we start running around until we find trouble,” he told them.

None of them noticed the hooded figure sitting in the bed of the truck.

* * *

As the night went on and the teenagers continued to find crime to fight, two figures perched, side by side on a rooftop, watching over them.

“They’re not supposed to be here,” Wash said. His eyes didn’t leave Junior.

Martha shrugged easily, not at all surprised to see him. There weren’t many alien superheroes—word would have gotten to Wash within the first hour. “They’d have made it out here without my help. At least this way I can keep an eye on them.” She tugged down the hood of the tattered cape she was wearing.

“They don’t know you’re here,” Wash guessed.

“Junior might,” she shrugged again, turning her attention back to the kids, who had just finished scarring off a wayward mugger. “We know my Jedi-Mind trick doesn’t work on your eyes, and Junior’s never been effected by my Halloween tricks. Maybe his eyes can see me too.”

Wash scowled. “You might be able to get me if you ever practiced.”

“I don’t _want_ to practice,” Martha said. “I chose not to years ago.”

“You could be helping people,” he argued. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this fight. It certainly wouldn’t be the last. “You _and_ your sisters.”

Martha’s mouth twitched. “Mitch doesn’t have any powers,” she reminded him.

He scowled. “One day I’ll prove it,” he threatened. “I know what I saw, and I know that was her.”

“You’d just hit your head,” she said. “Maybe you were seeing things.”

Wash forced himself to refocus. “You and Jackie then. _You_ could be helping people.”

“I create _fear_ , Washington. Not exactly heroic material. And I’ve seen the kind of costumes supervillains wear.” She shuddered. “I’d trip in those heels. And corsets are the devil.”

Wash kept his mouth shut at that. She always said that, and the worst part was, he couldn’t argue. Martha’s powers were pretty classic villain. The cape she was wearing didn’t really do much to help his case against it.

But he could never understand it. The three of them had _powers_. How could they just… live their lives and not do anything with them? Donut, Wash could at least understand. They had skipped him. But he didn’t get why the sisters hid. Why Mitch complained about how powers caused trouble, even with two kids and a wife with powers. Why Jackie refused to even test the extents of her empathic abilities. They didn’t make _sense_.  

Martha sighed, and glanced up at the sky. “Getting late, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Wash said.

“Well, guess we better get them home so you can actually sleep tonight,” Martha got to her feet.

“How do you propose to do that?” Wash asked. “Want me to go down there?” He could scare them home easily. Ground them. Not that they weren’t going to be grounded anyways, but…

Martha laughed at him. “I’ve been scaring kids home since I was sixteen. That and haunted houses. It’s what I do best.”

She climbed down the fire escape, towards the kids. None of them so much as glanced at her as she approached, despite the noises she made.  

“It’s getting late,” Martha said, her voice unusually high with worry. “Mom might check on us. She might worry. She might call Wash.”

Wash felt his shoulders stiffen as he watched the kids all start to mutter amongst themselves. He was relatively immune to Martha’s powers—they were pretty sure it was a cat thing—but she’d put power into it, and it made his skin crawl, even though he didn’t have a mother back home worrying about him. It didn’t take long for the kids to creep towards Martha’s truck, and start heading back to the farm.

“How will you get home?” Wash asked, when she rejoined him on the roof. She was smirking, satisfied with herself, but she also looked exhausted. She wasn’t used to using her powers so much.  

“I’ll catch a ride with Mitch when she comes in for the farmer’s market,” Martha said, shrugging. “Then she’ll ground them, but the kids will still think I’m on their side, and come to me again next time they want to sneak out.”

“Your family is ridiculous,” he told her.

Martha smiled faintly. Sweat beaded her forehead, and she looked to be dead on her feet. Wash knew better than to point out that more training might mean this didn’t happen. Martha was a grown woman. She knew that. “I know. And yet you keep letting Junior visit.”

“I blame Tucker for that.”

“I’m pretty sure he blames Donut.”

“I’m willing to go with that.’

Martha smiled at him, pulling off the cape and stuffing it in the backpack she wore. Beneath it she wore jeans and a sweater, a far more normal look.

“Coffee?” She asked. “I know a 24 hour place where the owner won’t report you to your husband.”

Wash sighed, glancing at the tracker he’d placed on her truck. Sure enough, it was well on its way to the farm. Junior was _so_ grounded.

“Sure,” he said. “Let me stop to get changed.”

“I think I’d be a great supervillain, don’t you?” Martha asked conversationally.

“Please don’t joke about that.”


	9. A Fraction of Your Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General Martha Fillmore survived the destruction of Armonia, and has reclaimed her alien sword. But those tend to have certain side effects. 
> 
> Someone should put a warning label on those things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've harbored Martha with an alien baby as a joke for ages, but hey, I'm taking prompts over on Tumblr, and Iz gave me the excuse I needed! Enjoy the crack! (Prompts are still open, so drop me a line!)

Martha has long since given up on being able to predict the course of her life. She joins the army after her brother dies, only for her brother to show up nearly a decade later, alive, well, and using a different name. She spends her whole life looking up to him, only to find out he let them all think he was dead for years, and that he shot her little brother. She thinks she’s fighting a war for the right reasons, but it’s all a joke. She thinks she’s just a grunt in the army, but she ends up a general.

She thinks she’ll get to go home, when the war is done, but there’s the awful truth of _politics_. She can’t leave Kimball alone to deal with all of this.

She thinks she’ll die in Armonia, in the heart of a nuclear explosion, but Carolina is close by with her speed boost and drags her out just in time, barely making it to the Pelican before the words “too late” can pass her lips, but not before apologies and requests to Wash make themselves known.

Things are… awkward. Wash doesn’t know how to handle this, her nearly dying, her forgiveness, and neither does she. So, she decides to do the mature thing and ignore it in favor of yelling at the UNSC about being a bunch of fuckwads and arguing with Kimball over supplies.

It’s during one of those meetings where Martha realizes that there is, apparently, a side effect of that alien sword she’s taken to carrying at her side just to remind everyone she can stab them whenever she feels like it.

The entire group is gathered together. Doyle is arguing with Kimball about resettlement—Martha doesn’t know Chorus well enough to deal with this sort of things, so it’s Doyle’s job. She’s a soldier. She’s not from Chorus. She doesn’t know these things, as Kimball loves to point out. Martha understands, vaguely, that Kimball resents that an outsider has so much power, and it makes _sense_ , it does, Martha’s only qualification is that she was the last woman standing. She’s the survivor. She has an alien sword that ties her to this planet and powerful friends and she’s a terrible leader.

Kimball should be the one in charge and they both know it, but until elections can be arranged, Kimball’s stuck with her. And elections have to wait for a while still.

Martha clears her throat and stands up. “As much as it pains me to be the voice of reason,” she says. “Drop it, you two. We’ll take it up again later. Colonel Sarge, you said you had word of that pirate contingent in the—”

Suddenly Martha sways on her feet, knees buckling, and she clutches the table, but it’s too late, all eyes are on her, and there’s concern on their faces.

“Martha!” Grey is there, placing a hand on her forehead. “What did you eat?”

“Damn it,” Martha mutters. “I thought we were _done_ with assassination attempts.” She doubles over again as a wave of nausea overtakes her, and this time she’s not fast enough, and she vomits.

Simmons shrieks, but Donut is at her other side right away.

Caboose, however, looks at it curiously. “Miss General! I did not realize Junior was coming for a visit!”

“What?” Martha manages. “What the fuck Caboose?”

“Oh hey,” Epsilon says, hovering above it. “It kind of does look… look like Tucker’s…”

“Oh fuck.” Grif says suddenly. “Are you saying Martha’s pregnant too? We already dealt with that once!”

“What do you mean,” Martha says, her voice deceptively mild as she struggles to find her footing, “ _pregnant?”_

Halfway across the room, heads swivel towards Tucker.

“Oh shit,” Tucker says.

Martha turns towards him. “Captain Tucker, if you think this is going to be a good time to make a “who’s the father” joke, you are _sorely_ mistaken.”

“No, not that! Uh. It’s just. I think I know what happened.”

Grey frowns. “Oh?”

“The sword. It, uh. It knocked me up when I first got it. It’s how I got Junior.”

Martha glances at the sword at her hip. “… I’m pregnant with an _alien_?”

“Oh my,” Grey says faintly. “Martha I think I need to run some tests.” She pauses. “Tucker, how long did your pregnancy last?”

“Not… very… long…” Tucker says, just as Martha went white as a sheet and clutched at her stomach and lets out a blood curdling shriek that proves once and for all that she is related to Wash and Donut.

“From recovering the sword…” Doc says thoughtfully. “Yes, the timing is about right!” Then his voice changes. “Just in time for the little parasite to _burst its way out of her abdomen_! Mwahahaha!”

“Just tell me this thing isn’t really a chest-burster,” Martha groans.

“I had to have a C-section, so I’d be lying,” Tucker admits.

“I’m going to kill every last one of you for not warning me about this,” Martha snarls. All the Reds and Blues take a step back.

Grey pats Martha on the back. “Let’s get you somewhere private so I can run some tests. And possibly perform surgery!”

“I can’t be giving birth already, I literally just found out! What kind of parasite am I giving birth to?” Martha feels panic bubbling in her chest, because this is _wrong_ , she can’t be pregnant, she can’t be—this can’t be real, it has to be a trick or a joke or something. She doesn’t even speak Sanghelli anymore, she’s forgotten whatever she knew, she _can’t_ …

Martha lets Grey lead her away, leaning on her heavily. “This isn’t possible,” she whispers.

Grey pats her arm. “I know sweetie! But just think of how exciting it is! And at least it’s not another assassination attempt!”

Martha lets out another cry as a wave of pain rips through her. “We need—I don’t know how long—”

“Don’t you worry about a thing!” Grey pats her cheek as she pushes Martha into a hospital bed. “You’re not about to die on me!”

“Thanks Emily,” Martha mutters, screwing her eyes shut as Grey starts to scan her. “For the love of _fuck_!’ She screams again.

* * *

Wash has, theoretically, known that Tucker ended up impregnated with an alien embryo when he got the sword, but he had never made that connection to his _sister_.

The meeting has thoroughly derailed after that horrifying discovery, with everyone swapping stories about Junior, and Wash and Donut just staring at each other, trying to comprehend what’s happening.

He can’t… he can’t lose Martha again, he nearly lost her at Armonia. Her would have been last words seem to be continuously echo in his mind. “ _Give them hell, David._ ”

They haven’t talked about it—Wash had assumed they’d have time, and things had been so busy with reconstruction and rounding up the left over pirates…

“Hey,” Tucker says quietly to him. “Grey’s not about to let anything happen to her. Plus, if I could survive it with _Doc_ , she’ll be fine.”

Wash swallows. “I—you’re right. Thanks.”

Tucker bumps his shoulder against his. “Dude, calm down. It’s _Martha_. She’s like, indestructible. Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s your whole family.”

Wash opens his mouth to contradict him, but then he considers all the things he, Donut, and Martha have survived just in the past few months, and he closes it again.

Grey comes back. “Well, it looks like her body has… adjusted to having an alien in it,” she declares cheerfully. “I really need to read-up on my xeno-biology! Private Donut, Agent Washington, she’s asked for you.”

Wash barely takes time to be relieved she’ll admit he’s her brother before he and Donut both take off towards the infirmary.

“No C-Section?” Wash asks when he sees Martha. She’s pale and in a hospital gown instead of her armor now, the bulge that is apparently the future alien baby now visible, and she still manages to look murderous despite being soaked in sweat.

“Apparently not needed,” Martha groans. “Fucking—alien—chest—burster!”

“Junior’s great, Martha!” Donut takes one of her hands and squeezes it tightly. “I’m sure our little nephew will be _adorable!”_

“Like hell I’m having a boy, I’m already dealing with you two,” Martha snaps. “I do not need another Fillmore boy’s capacity for drama!”

“You’re going to keep it?” Wash asks. He doesn’t move closer, remembering Martha’s fury the last time she’d been in the hospital.

“Oh for fuck’s sake stop hovering and grab my fucking hand.”

Wash sits down and does exactly that.

All things considered, the birth is quick, painless, and _loud_. But soon enough the others are all crowded around Martha’s hospital bed, eager to see the newest addition to Chorus.

Wash glances at the small alien sitting on Martha’s lap.

“What are you going to name…” Tucker squints. “Her? Him? I honestly can’t tell.”

“I’m calling it them until it’s old enough to make up its mind, cuz no one on this planet understands alien gender,” Martha says, patting them on the head, which causes the alien to let out a cooing _honk_. “And their name is David.”

Wash goes completely still, but not before he catches Donut hiding a smile behind his hand.

“David? Weird name,” Grif comments.

“Named after my dead older brother,” Martha continues.

“Martha!” Wash yells, having finally recovered enough from his initial shock.

“My poor, dead oldest brother. I miss him dearly. I’m so honored to name my first and only child after him—”

“ _Why are you like this.”_

“I wish he could be here to see this moment…”

“ _I was literally holding your hand while they were born.”_

“And weren’t a dirty rotten liar who lets me think he’s dead for years.”

“Your name is _David?_ ” Tucker asks Wash.

“I hate all of you.”

“Don’t you think that will get confusing?” Simmons asks. “If you’ve named them after Wash?”

“I figure I’ll call them Day,” Martha says, before she shifts Day on her lap. “I guess it’s time we figure out what you eat, huh you little fucker?”

“Don’t call your kid that!” Simmons shrieks.

“Fine. Who’s Mama’s good little parasite?” She tickles them under the chin, and it lets out another delighted _honk_.

“Oh my god who let her become a parent,” Wash says, his dawning horror doubtlessly showing on his face, judging Martha’s smirk.

“Oh, you haven’t fed them yet?” Tucker says. “Caboose, get over here.”

“What, am I feeding them Caboose?” Martha says, skeptically.

“Only a little.”

“Oh god you’re serious,” Martha’s clearly alarmed at that, and Wash has to agree.

“Tucker! We’re not feeding them Caboose!”

“They drink blood!” Doc says. “ _The blood of your enemies_!”

Martha and Grey meet eyes.

“Bag of blood and a very sturdy piece of rubber for a bottle?” Martha asks hopefully.

“I’ll see what we can find,” Grey says, patting Martha’s hand and taking off.

Grey returns soon after, and Martha and Day begin a complicated negotiation about proper feeding.

“I’m going to need a goddamn dictionary,” Martha finally says when Day is clutching to her hair, determinedly drinking from the sippie cup Grey had procured from god-knows-where.  “My Sanghelli is rusty.”

“Your accent’s pretty good,” Tucker says. “I can tell that much.”

Martha pauses, considering. “If the sword got me pregnant… does that make Santa Day’s grandpa?”

Wash rolls his eyes. “Martha.”

“It’s an honest question!”

Most of the others have cleared out by now, but Tucker’s staying.

“You mind if I hold them?” Tucker asks. “It’s weird; Junior grew up so quickly. I kinda miss it.”

“If you can get them out of my curls, feel free,” Martha says.

Tucker carefully reaches up and holds out his hands to Day. Day pauses, considering, before untangling themselves out of Martha’s hair and jumping to Tucker. Tucker lets out a huff of air as Day nearly knocks him over, but he adjusts quickly. “Pretty cute, aren’t they?” Tucker asks, grinning.

“I guess,” Martha says. “But I think that might be those weird motherly chemicals.”

“Oh no!” Grey assures her. “The pregnancy was too quick for those to be manufactured properly!”

Martha squints. “Huh. Neat.”

“If you need help, just let me know,” Tucker says. “Us alien single-parents need to stick together.”

Martha looks at him. “Captain Tucker, you’ve made it pretty damn clear you think I’m a tyrannical bitch.”

“Yeah, but you can’t be all that bad,” Tucker says reasonably. “Plus, can you imagine going to _Wash_ for help with a baby?”

“Your point is made. Now hand over my alien spawn. I need to make sure it knows all of the important lessons in life.”

“Martha,” Wash says warningly. “You can’t teach them to bite people you don’t like on command.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Martha says with a sigh. “The only person I would want to do that to is Locus. And Day can’t eat Locus. They might pick up genocidal tendencies.”

Wash keeps looking at her.

“I’m going to teach them to swear in six languages so I can take them to meetings with the UNSC.”

“How,” Wash says slowly. “Are you running an army?”

“Low-level immortality?” Martha shoves Day into his arms. “Stop complaining and hold your nibling.”

Wash stares at Day. Day stares back.

“Hi?” Wash tries. Day sighs and sits down in his lap, still drinking the cup full of blood. “Honk!”

Donut is sniffling in the background. Wash sighs, and pets Day on the head.

“Well,” he says dryly. “At least things won’t be boring.”

“I doubt we were ever in much danger of that,” Martha says. “Now, I just shoved an alien baby out of unspeakable places. So I’m going to nap. Shoo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Donut Siblings and RvB feelings, come hang with me on [tumblr](http://secretlystephaniebrown.tumblr.com/).


	10. everything inside and out (amnesia part ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY LITTLE SIB sroloc_elbisivni! Last year, I gave you the first part of the Amnesia Verse. This year? Well… let’s get Part 2 out here. I wouldn’t say it’s done, but it’s what I’ve got so far. I hope you enjoy, kiddo! You’re so grown up now. :’)
> 
>  **Warnings** : None
> 
>  **Pairings** : All ships background/minor/implied, but: Tuckington, Niner/OC, Church/Tex/OC

The problem with the ship is that it’s too crowded. Freelancers and Sim Troopers and civilians are packed in practically elbow-to-elbow, making it impossible for David-Wash-Washington to get alone long enough to try to process the splitting headaches and echoes of memories he keeps getting.

Wash can’t tell his siblings this, but he knows the Freelancers are telling the truth.

He remembers colorful armor and recognizes the voices, and his dreams are filled with combat and shouting voices, not the supposed calm of the deserted planet.

He denies it when they talk about it, but no one believes it anymore. Martha keeps looking at him like he kicked Shadow; this unacknowledged betrayal. He’d left them. He’d left them and let them think he was dead to play super soldier, until whatever had happened and wiped out his memories.

All he knows is that it had something to do with Epsilon, one of the A.I. that most of the Freelancers seem to have. He doesn’t remember what any of his logic or reasoning was; questioning the other Freelancers seems to be a dead end. Most of them don’t have family, or don’t particularly care about them. Niner’s related to Caboose, who seemed to have been aware of Niner being alive, which has done absolutely _nothing_ to assist Niner and Mitch’s arguments.

Something has happened with Mitch and Niner, and Wash doesn’t know what to make of it, the way they occasionally pause in their bickering, the looks they exchange.

Martha spends all her time with the Sim Troopers, and, on occasion, Carolina, who she has begrudgingly accepted if only for Shadow’s fondness for her. She’s sullen and quiet, and unhappy. She doesn’t like the moving around, the cramped space. Wash would have thought that Mitch would be the one who wanted to go home, but it’s not the case. Mitch’s bickering with Niner seems to have driven away all thoughts about the farm; she’s barely even wondered about how the harvest is progressing.

Jackie is positively thriving, like Frank. The two of them have always fed on the interesting, the odd, and the uncontrollable—as long as they can control it. Jackie interrogates the Freelancers and Sim Troopers, and maps out everything she possibly can. Jackie is hungry for knowledge and adventure, starved for it, and Wash had never realized until he sees her compiling her notes. She’d stayed home for college, for grad school, stayed home out of a sense of duty, of family, but Jackie has been craving this.

Wash wonders where she would have gone if he hadn’t gone missing, hadn’t held her back indirectly, by making her afraid of leaving the others.

The Reds and Blues and Frank argue and fight and yell, but there is a comfort to them all the same. It’s an escape, from what he did.

And if Wash sometimes spends longer than is appropriate staring at Tucker when his helmet is off, well that’s no one’s business but his.

* * *

The kiss was a mistake.

No, really, it was a terrible mistake, _because Mitch can’t stop thinking about it_.

Niner is infuriating, obnoxious, loud. Niner is a pilot, she won’t be grounded, she’d never settled down, she’d...

Mitch needs to stop wanting to kiss her, because Mitch doesn’t need women like Niner. She needs a woman who will help with the harvest and settle down. Mitch has never pretended to want anything besides the domestic life on her farm.

Niner, with her armor and her friends and her guns and her _kidnapping tendencies_ would never fit in on the farm, no matter how much Mitch wants to kiss her or run her fingers through her tangled curls or—

None of it matters.

Because Niner is a brother-napper and her friends are all weirdos in colorful armor who are being chased by monsters and the government and they dragged Mitch and her family into their messes.

David is confused, but he won’t say it. He thinks she should be trying to get them home, to bring them back to the farm and their hometown and Mom and Dad and all the rest.

But as long as her family is here, the farm can stay behind.

As long as they’re here, it will all be okay.

Even if infuriatingly cute Four Seven Niner doesn’t want to kiss her again— _not that she wants her to_.

* * *

Martha wants to go home.

Martha wants to wake up in her own bed with Shadow sprawled across her chest, heavy and furry and wonderful, and her brother is back and okay and she’s never fucking heard of _Agent Washington_.

This ship is full of people who broke her family to pieces, but none of the others seem to care. Mitch is too busy making moony-eyes at Niner, swayed by arguments that they were trying to protect him. Jackie is flirting with Tex and Church at the same time, because her baby sister has terrible taste in men and women, and also enjoys to court disaster and danger. Donut is just happy everyone’s together. He’s always forgiven too easily.

And David?

David is Agent Washington. He doesn’t remember, but he is.

He left them.

There is nothing but bile in Martha’s mouth when she looks at him now. Her brother with the crisscrossing scars and the circles under his eyes and the flecks of grey in his hair, with freckles splotching all over his skin, with a metal _thing_ in the back of his neck—he’s Freelancer, and he let them all think he was dead for adventure and to save the galaxy or whatever else it is that they promise Freelancers.

Martha doesn’t want any of this. She never did. She wanted to join the army when she was young and stupid, and then her brother died, and she grew up, and she realized there was nothing good out there, but her family has already forgotten these lessons.

Her hands shake when she gets like this, all worked up and there’s absolutely nothing she can do about it but hug Shadow tightly until the shakes go away. She mediates arguments because Jackie’s too busy taking notes and Mitch is flirting with Niner, but she can’t do anything but snap and snarl and punch walls when no one is looking. She has nothing to do with her hands, and Martha hates that. She misses her workshop.

She just wants her family back, and these others to go away so they can go home and forget about all of this.

That’s all she’s ever wanted.

* * *

It’s probably terrible of Jackie to think of her brother’s kidnapping by his supposed former teammates as the most interesting thing to happen to her since Grad School but…

Look, she loves her home town, but it doesn’t exactly have much in the way of interesting cases, okay?

She certainly never gets to deal with twins who have been pitted against each other as a psychological experiment, people with abandonment issues a mile wide, or several AI before.

Jackie’s always had a soft-spot for AI psychology, even if she hadn’t specialized in it at school. Not enough non-military jobs in that field. And Jackie wasn’t military. She didn’t have it in her.

And then of course, there was the company.

Leonard Church was a pissy, super-smart in his own way, fast-talking jackass with a superiority/inferiority complex and a screechy voice.

So of course, Jackie was harboring a bit of a crush on him, a fact which she was rigorously hiding from her siblings. They had enough opinions about her awful taste in men. And they’d tell Church, whose interest she was still gauging.

Especially because there was also a crush on Texas; hyper-competent, snarky, way too fond of violence, and just enough a mercenary to make Jackie swoon. This crush she was trying to hide even _more_ , because her siblings also had opinions about her taste in women, and she suspected Tex would not talk to her any more if she knew the crush was a Thing, with a capital T.

Jackie’s life would be a lot easier if her taste in people was less inconvenient.

* * *

Donut is worried for his sisters. He’s worried for David—wait, no Wash, he goes by Wash now—of course he’s worried, but that’s an old worry. They’ve always been worrying about Wash.

But Martha is going stir-crazy, missing  her workshop and on edge with all of these strangers, none of whom she likes. Except Carolina. Somehow, Carolina has accidentally convinced Martha that she’s okay. Mitch is too busy pining over the pilot to handle things, and Jackie is distracted by… _everything_. Mostly Tex and Church. She thinks they haven’t noticed, but at least Martha has.

And Wash is trying to put the pieces back together, but none of them know where the missing pieces _are_.

Donut worries.

But then again, he usually does.

And when the Freelancers bring home the AI that apparently wiped out Wash’s memories?

He worries even more.

* * *

Wash picks up the containment unit, which is emitting low pulses of blue light. “You don’t know either, do you?” He says.

Epsilon’s light blinks. _No_.

“Think we can find out?” Wash asks.

The light blinks again, but Wash knows instinctively that it’s a yes.

“Alright,” he says, and pushes open the panel where he knows, somewhere in the part of his mind that knows York’s face and the fact that Carolina dyes her hair and that Connie, whoever she was, is one of the most important people he’s ever met, he can find Epsilon’s chip.

Wash holds it in his hands; it’s small, innocuous even, looking like a video game cartridge. There’s a Greek letter on it, and it’s vaguely blue. It’s burning hot, and Wash nearly drops it. But he doesn’t, because he needs to _know_. He needs to have answers to the nightmares that he’s been having, he needs to know _why_ these people are important, he needs to be able to give his sisters answers.

Wash takes a deep breath and pushes Epsilon’s chip into his implants.

There is screaming.

_Allison with her blonde hair and a laugh that sounds like—Washington has blond hair and blue eyes and he—David was born in a small town in Iowa called—Texas is number one—Agent Washington died in—she’s alive again—he has four siblings—he’s nothing but a memory—a farm far away—a ship—Epsilon-David-Washington-Alpha-Leonard-Agent-Church-Brother-WASH._

The whole world is fire, it feels like. Fire and fury and the agonizing pain. The sharp, cutting feeling of a razor blade across his throat, the white hot fear of everyone dying. York’s eyes glassy and unseeing, Carolina at the bottom of a cliff, Tex with a bullet in her stomach— _AlliSON_.

Cold hands press against his forehead and he doesn’t open his eyes because they’re not real—nothing is real except Epsilon and him and that awful knotted place where they are one and the same.

* * *

“Stay away from him!” Martha screams, spinning towards the Freelancers.

There’s a cold, hard fury in her chest, threatening to burst out, and in this moment she feels invincible. They are super soldiers with armor and enhancements and they can do things that she could never imagine, but right now she thinks she could take them all, with this liquid fury in her veins stronger than any form of courage or bravery.

Her brother is screaming on the floor, and the Epsilon unit—the thing the Freelancers have been telling them broke him the first time—is on the floor, ripped open to expose the chip, which is missing. He’s thrashing and fighting Mitch’s grip on his right wrist and Frank’s grip on his left wrist and Jackie’s grip on his head and there’s nothing for Martha to hold, but she can do this.

She is stubborn, she is stupid, she is reckless, and she’s the one who has always tumbled into a fight after her siblings or in defense of them without question and she can hold the line here.

“We can help—” North Dakota says, and Martha wants to _scream_.

“No,” she says. “You can’t. All you people do is hurt him. He was _out_! He was safe! He was _healing_! And you had to drag him back in, with your fucking _missions_ , and _numbers_ , and _revenge_ , and you—you fucking brought this thing onto the ship because you needed _answers_ , or whatever, and you LET HIM PUT IT IN HIS HEAD.”

Martha’s aware that her eyes are wet.

“We—” It’s York this time, and Martha nearly surges forward to try to punch him, but Tucker catches her hand and holds her back.

“ _Last time he forgot you,”_ Martha spits, fighting Tucker’s grip on her, even though she knows she can’t break free. He’s strong, even without his armor, and Martha is out of shape after months of being away from her shop. “What if this time he forgets _us_?”

Carolina looks alarmed at the possibility, but the others just looked shocked that Martha’s even thought that.

Behind her, Jackie is muttering something softly—trying to talk to Epsilon, Martha thinks, trying to talk him out of Wash’s head, because Jackie thinks she’s a fucking AI whisperer now. Mitch is just pressing her hand against Wash’s forehead and crying softly. Frank is holding Wash’s hand, as the seizures seem to fade.

Martha just stands apart from her siblings, her wrist tight in Tucker’s grip, her other arm thrown out wide, a barrier between her family and these Freelancers who have laid claim to her brother. On the other side, there are the Reds and Blues, hovering over Wash, concerned.

Martha swallows and her eyes remain perfectly dry.

“Go away and leave my family alone,” she says.

* * *

It’s been two days and Wash hasn’t woken up. Wash’s family isn’t leaving him—they’ve got him hidden away in the largest of the sleeping quarters. Martha hit York with a broom when he tried to visit, and the less said about South’s attempt the better.

Carolina knocks on the door, and Mitch is the one to answer. She stares at her. For a second, Carolina wonders if she’s going to get a black eye like Niner did, when she tried to talk to Mitch.

Mitch is uncomfortable to look at; the resemblance to Wash is uncanny, even without the scars. There’s a tiredness to Mitch’s face, an exhaustion that looks so terribly familiar.

“Has he woken up?” Carolina says. “I know you don’t want us in here, but… I care about him too. I just want to know that he’s okay.”

Mitch’s icy blue gaze falters for a moment. “He’s not… he hasn’t woken up yet,” she says softly.

Carolina nods once, jerkily.

Mitch looks away. “You know more about AI than we do,” she says, crossing her arms, like she’s trying to hug herself. “Is… do you think… what Martha said…”

“No,” Carolina says, immediately. “I don’t think that.” She takes a breath. “He used to talk about you guys. To Connie. I overheard him once or twice.”

Mitch looks _devastated_ at that, closing her over bright eyes.

“The thing is,” Carolina adds. “He sounded like he’d talked to you guys recently.” Mitch’s eyes snap open, and focus on Carolina’s face, as if looking for something. Her mouth forms a thin, considering line, an expression so like Wash’s that the resemblance is dizzying.

“Thank you,” Mitch says. She doesn’t say what for, but it doesn’t matter. She closes the door behind her, but it’s not a slam, and Carolina can work with that.

* * *

Wash opens his eyes, and he _remembers_.

There’s someone holding his hand, and someone pressed against his chest, and someone is sitting on his legs, and the faint sound of Jackie snoring in the background.

Martha’s sitting on his legs, head lolled against the wall of the bunk, mouth open and drooling slightly. Mitch has his hand in a vicelike grip, while Donut is curled up next to him, head resting on Wash’s chest, like he’d done when they were kids. Jackie is sprawled on the floor, Mitch’s jacket under her head like a pillow.

Wash squeezes Mitch’s hand slightly, not daring to move otherwise, for fear of disturbing his siblings.

But the door is open just a crack, and Wash sees Niner peek in.

She looks awful; there’s a black eye

She meets his eyes, and something shifts. “You remember?”

Wash nods.

She glances sideways at Mitch, and coughs. “How mad is she, exactly?”

Wash lets his head thump back against the pillows dramatically. “Not as mad as she wants to be. Don’t worry. She’s usually very lenient with her girlfriends.”

Niner starts to splutter and cough. “We’re—she’s—wait, really?”

“Well,” Wash mutters. “It could be worse. I’m pretty sure Jackie has a crush on _Church_.”

“Really?” Niner asks, peering at his youngest sister. “I thought she had a thing for Tex.”

Wash pauses, considering. “…well. At least Martha’s safe from that.”

“Shut up, David,” Martha mutters. “You have no room to talk, pining over Tucker.”

Wash has been crushing on a Sim Trooper. Well that… complicates things.

He glances around at his family again, then looks up at Niner, but she’s already gone. Somewhere on the ship, Wash knows, there are Sim Troopers and Freelancers and his sisters.

He… had absolutely failed to understand the full implications of this situation when he’d had amnesia.

Wash swallows down the wave of bile as Epsilon’s memories threaten to overwhelm him, focusing instead on the way Donut is clinging to him, focusing on the way that Donut had used to do that when they were little. His memories. Not Leonard Church’s—oh shit, Church is—no, no, focus on Mitch’s farming callouses and the way they feel against his hand.

He’s going to get through this.

He’s pretty sure his siblings would kill him if he didn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me over on [tumblr!](http://www.secretlystephaniebrown.tumblr.com)


End file.
